


The Court of Bones

by catieconqueso



Category: Faerie Folklore, Fantasy - Fandom, Original Work, Romance - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fae & Fairies, First Ever Work, Fluff and Angst, Kind of enemies to lovers, M/M, Mates, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please be gentle, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catieconqueso/pseuds/catieconqueso
Summary: There had been one rule, one rule my tutor had stressed to me when I had been a girl. I could drink my fill of wine, eat as much meat and sweets my belly could hold, dance every night under the moon, but I was not to couple with the Fae during the light of a full moon. A full moon was when matings occurred when Fae bound themselves to each other.I had never been one for rules.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. The Seelie Court

The taste of dirt filled my mouth as my back hit the ground with a resounding thud. Above me, a pair of yellow fox eyes studied me with restrained amusement. I wouldn’t have known it had been there save for the upturning of full lips and the quick flash of sharp teeth. “Do you yield, fear beag?” His deep tone hit an impossibly smug register, and once I could move again I was going to hit the smug expression right off his face. “Do you yield?” He repeated the question and I scrunched my round nose in annoyance.

“I heard you the first time!.” I swatted away the hand held out to me. “Yes, I yield.” I brushed the dirt off my doeskin breeches, wincing as my short fingers skirted over the bruises on the tops of my thighs.

I chose then to strike, to mount my counter-attack, to reclaim my honor. With a swing of my practice sword and sweep of his, I was on my back again, an undignified _oof_ escaping my lungs when I yet again collied with the dirt. “Son of a whore,” I gasped out. A deep masculine chuckle came as answer, a perfectly polished black boot planting itself next to my head. The toe gave a push to my mass of dark curls now unbound from the ribbon I had hastily tied it in that morning.

“Are you quite finished? We are going to be late.” I followed the line of the boots to the knee, then the fine black breeches encasing muscular thighs, past the thin waist and white billowing shirt stuck to a sweat slicked chest, finally to settle on those fox eyes partially hidden behind a lock of bright red hair that had escaped its usual fastidious plait.

I shrugged in reply, finally accepting his outstretched hand, decidedly ignoring the warmth of his long elegant fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Just making sure you were staying alert.” I again brushed off breeches, fingers catching in a rather large hole in my shirt that hadn’t been there when I had dressed this morning. “Bollocks! Look what you did, you wretch!”

Eion answered with a sharp smile that I could almost call sheepish if it wasn’t for the pointed teeth the peeked from beneath his lips. “Me? I am nothing but a gentleman.” He sheathed his sword with an exaggerated flourish.

“Some gentleman,” I grumbled, tucking the forest green shirt into my breeches in hopes of hiding the hole for a little longer. “You may be a prince, but you certainly are no gentleman.” I sheathed my sword before passing it to him.

In the distance the mid-afternoon bell tolled twice, the peal carrying above the forest to settle around the practice field in which we stood. Two bells signified that we in fact were late and much of the kingdom had already arrived at the feast. “My mother is going to have our heads.” He shot me another sharp smile and I answered with my own. “Some more than others.”

* * *

Our path through the Elmholm Wood was predictably crowded, the road full of all manner of creatures on their way to the manor. Eion’s sprawling height and status as the prince and my own small frame allowed us to pass relatively unmolested. There was, however, one pixie who with a hiss of human offered to trade the color of my hair for the name of my true love.

It had been a tempting offer, and some dark part of me had wanted to accept the trade. It would have allowed me an answer, a solution to dreams, and subsequent feeling of not belonging that constantly niggled in my chest like a worm wriggling within a rotten apple.

 _Human_. That word, often hissed behind clenched teeth, was my badge of shame, my constant reminder that I did not belong amongst the Fae around me. My appearance, small and unremarkable generally marked me as human well enough, but the stares, the hesitations when I offered my hand, the words whispered when no one thought I could hear…they were what hurt the most.

Eion had dismissed the pixie easy enough, a wave of his hand and it slunk back to the shadow of the forest from which it came. It never seemed to bother him, the fact that I was a human. He had shrugged off the question each time I had asked, had whispered one night when we lay shoulder to shoulder under the stars, that my only disadvantage from being human was how dreadful I was at sparring.

“Are you sure you won’t join the dance tonight,” Eion asked, pulling me from my thoughts with practiced ease. “Perhaps we can finally wipe that dour look from your face.” In emphasis, he tapped my furrowed brow with an elegant finger.

“You know the Hallowed Bonfire is no place for a human,” I answered, frown deepening at his flippancy towards the matter. “Besides I am the ward of the Seelie Queen. And if you must know, the invitation to the dance does not extend to wards.” _Ward_ , prettier sounding than prisoner, and Law forbid the Fae had to endure anything less than beautiful.

“Last time I checked, you were the Royal Huntress, and that warrants an invitation.” His shoulder bumped mine, drawing me from my melancholy with a heavy sigh.

“It's still no place for a human,” I bit out.

“I could glamour you, no one would know the difference.” Eion smiled again, a sharp-tipped albeit charming smile, one that made an odd feeling stir along my spine.

“They would notice if one of their own danced like an ogre.”

“Well you are in luck, my mother has invited the northern ogre clan. No one will notice your horrendous dancing.” Eion was all smiles, stopping to grip my hands and twirl me in a mock dance.

I drew my hands back sharply, brushing them roughly on my breeches as if I could wipe the sickly electrical surge of magic that tingled where he had touched me.“Eion, no.”

“Please, Aiofe. I shan’t survive without you by my side.” His perfectly handsome face looked odd pouting, Eion’s normally serene features twisting into a mockery of what he imagined a frown looked like. Yellow eyes squinted, elegant pointed nose scrunched, yet that sharp smile remained.

“Ugh don’t do that you’ll get wrinkles, and at your age, you can’t afford that.” The moment the words left my lips, the scowl disappeared, replaced by his usual serene expression.

“Take that back.” Fae, always the vain creatures. “Aiofe take it back.”

“Shan’t,” I answered, my bottom lip between my teeth stifling the giggle rising in my throat as I danced past him. Knowing Eion, he was still rooted in the same spot, mock upset marring his handsome features, yellow eyes narrowed in suspicion. At least he had something to focus on that wasn’t getting me to join him at the feast.

Suddenly with a squeal, the path before me was upside down. Eion laughed, a rich melodic and of course perfect sound as he shifted my bulk on his shoulder. “Take it back.”

“No, put me down,” I answered matter of factly, my own honey brown eyes narrowed in annoyance. Eion shrugged and kept walking, and I could imagine Honeydowne Manor, the seat of the Seelie Court, rising to greet us as he crested the last hill of the woods. “Eion…” I warned, struggling against his grip.

“I shall just have to present you to the Court in such a manner since you will not make amends to my honor—which you so grievously wronged.” Eion stopped at the crest, hand giving my backside one last pat as he dropped me gently to the ground. “Apologize.”

“Fine, I am sorry. You aren’t old.” I paired my apology with a roll of my eyes, though my bright smile betrayed my amusement. “Now what has you in such a mood?”

Eion sighed deeply, elegant fingers smoothing over his fiery plait, a gesture I knew meant he was unnerved by what he was about to say. “My mother has invited the whole court. She intends for tonight to be my mating ceremony.”

A sharp stab of pain cleaved through my chest at his words. I…I would never admit it to Eion, or anyone for that matter, but when I slept at night I dreamt of marrying him. And now…I knew this would happen, knew that he had to marry, yet it did not make it hurt any less. “Oh, Eion. I didn’t know…”

He sighed, suddenly seeming crestfallen, an emotion that was very out of place for charming, confident Eion. “I was hoping you could come…as a friend?”

I forced a smile, trying to ignore that rending feeling in my chest. “Oh? And what if you are overcome with lust during the dance and finally admit your true feelings for me?” I teased, though half of me wished for it to be the truth. I was a human after all, and no Fae would ever want me.

An odd look crossed Eion’s face before he scrunched his features in disgust. “Ugh, you are like a sister to me. Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to running away together so we can keep our freedom.” A tempting offer to be sure, but we would be hunted, and I, despite my skill with a bow, would be killed for kidnapping the Seelie prince. Not event the Royal Huntress could escape the hounds of the Seelie Court when they were set loose.

Shifting uncomfortably as my mind toyed with the idea, I instead chose to focus on Honeydowne Manor, illuminated in the setting sunlight. The manor, with its stone exterior and sprawling wings, had been the only home I had known. I had spent countless nights looking out those windows, Eion by my side as we sipped hot chocolate and watched the stars from beneath a shared blanket.

I had fallen from that very roof, broken my arm at the age of ten when Eion dared me to climb the red shingled roof. He had fired an arrow to cleave between two shingles and had challenged me to get it down. Never backing down from a challenge, I had scaled the stone, three floors up had made it to the roof, and had nearly made it to the arrow before I slipped and fell. I had spent the following six weeks confined to my bed forced to listen to Eion badly recite every possible book from the library.

“I’m sure it will be fine, Eion,” I murmured, turning back to him. That had been a terrible mistake, his form backed in the sunset, copper hair set aflame, his pale skin adopting a golden hue. He was the most breathtaking creature I had ever seen.

“No it won’t,” he pouted, “I’ll be married off to some sprite and that will be that. No more adventures and no more sparring.”

“The prince can certainly still spar with the Royal Huntress.” I rolled my eyes at his pettiness. Per usual, Eion had devolved into a tantrum when he did not get his way.

“Not if I’m married,” he answered folding his arms over his broad chest.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. What does that have to do with anything?”

Eion was silent, arms still folded across his chest. When I pressed the issue, he finally caved. “Because you look like you!” I stepped back at his words—what was that supposed to mean?

“A human? Any woman or man you care to marry won’t care that I’m human. I’ll be as inconsequential as I’ve always been,” I answered stepping onto the cobblestone path and beginning my descent down through the garden to the back of the manor.

The garden sprawled over the hill, torches already lit amongst the bushes in preparation for the dance. It had been my favorite place, still was my favorite place in all of the Seelie Court, with its sprawling cliffs and mountains, lakes and forests. No, I preferred the garden, to be surrounded by the smell of fragrant flowers and quiet solitude. I loved nothing more save the quiet shadows of the forest when I hunted.

I fell onto the well-worn garden path without much thought, fingers trailing along the spring blossoms that dotted my path, not caring if Eion followed or not. I had walked this path many times as a child, bow slung about my chest, a copse of rabbits or deer slung over my shoulders.

Hunting was the one way I had felt like I had belonged. Something about the violence of it all, the solitude had stirred something in me, and when I turned fourteen I had begged the Seelie Queen to join the hunters. The Queen had laughed and dismissed me with a wave of her hand saying that I would need to learn to hold a bow first, and if I survived training, she may consider it.

So I trained every morning in the gardens with Indra, the previous Royal Huntress. Day and night I practiced my bow, swords, shields, daggers, spears, whatever new weapon she had thrown at me—and I failed, much as the Queen must have predicted. I was too small, too slight, too soft Indra had spat at me after knocking me down for the umpteenth time.

Yet I persisted, and even now I am not sure why. Perhaps it was some idea that I needed to prove myself to the Fae, prove that I was more than human. I practiced day and night with the practice dummies that still littered the northern corner of the gardens until I could finally wield a bow better than Eion who practiced by my side. And after all, Indra finally allowed me to join the hunt. The first time I shot a rabbit, an unclean kill, I was ecstatic. Indra hadn’t been impressed, she never was, even now.

 _“I suppose you’ll do,”_ was what she had whispered to me when she had announced that I was to be her replacement and that Indra was retiring to a quiet life in the Elmholm Woods.

“Aiofe, wait!” Eion caught up to me, light steps making no sound against the stone path. “Please wait?” His hand was warm on my forearm, long fingers curling against my skin.

I sighed and stopped, wrenching my hands free to cross my arms over my stomach. “Its fine, Eion. Enjoy the party,” I muttered out continuing my path towards the house with heavy steps. I could almost pretend not to see the hurt in his yellow eyes, the way his handsome features sunk at my dismissal.

It was all pretend of course. He was Fae, anything he felt towards me was a compulsive need to entrap a human, nothing more. That was what I told myself when Eion placed his hands on my waist and spun me to him. It was nothing more than a lust for my humanity, I reminded myself when he pressed his lips to mine in a sweet kiss.

I had kissed Eion before, so this was no moment of swooning. Had kissed him many times, the first when we were sixteen and had stolen spiced figs from the cook. There had been a trail of juice running down his chin, and some dark part of me had suggested that I press my lips to clean it off.

The same dark part of me now pressed me to fist my fingers into the fiery silk of his hair, pull it loose from its plait as I drug my tongue along the seam of his lips. Eion did much of the same, his fingers pulling my wild curls free from their haphazard ribbon with a groan. I took the opportunity to thrust my tongue past his lips, the taste of juniper berries and mint exploding over my tongue. I wondered how I tasted at that moment if my breath was as sweet.

Eion drew back pressing his forehead to mine, his breath warm pants against my cheek. “I want you there, Aiofe.”

“Eion…” I began, silenced by a quick kiss.

“Please…I want it to be you, the one I mate with. I need it to be you.” I knew what he said, what he wished could not be—I was human after all, and there was no way I could mate with a Fae. The dance did not work magic on humans beyond enthrallment, nothing more.

“Eion, it won’t work.”

“We have to try,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to my lips. “Please.”

A sharp feminine laugh startled us apart, my hands flying to straighten my shirt where it had shifted. Before us was the Seelie Queen clad in a dress made of clouds. Her smile, though amused on the surface was cold, her eyes narrowed in a frigid rage, and I coughed, bowing to her.

“What’s going on here?” She asked, high birdlike voice setting my nerves alight. I needed to leave, to retreat back to my room and pretend I didn’t just get caught kissing the prince.

“Nothing,” I answered quickly when Eion moved to speak. “If you’ll excuse me, your highness.” I made my retreat, stopped when the queen raised her hand.

“Eion?” She asked, head tilted in thought. To his credit, Eion shot me a small smile before hanging his head in shame.

“I was convincing Aiofe to attend the dance tonight.” Was he wringing his hands? Some prince, reduced to nerves in the gaze of his mother.

“Dearest,” came the disapproving trill I had long since associated with all matters involving myself, “the dance is no place for a human.”

“As I was saying,” I answered, cut off with another disapproving glare.

“Aiofe will attend the blessing as usual, but will return to her rooms once the dance begins.” I hated her tone, the trill smooth notes that made me feel like a child and not a woman of nearly thirty summers. “We wouldn’t want some unsavory creature carrying off our Huntress.”

“No your highness,” I answered, bowing my head again. “If I may take my leave, I would like to bathe before the blessing.” Mercifully the queen dismissed me with a wave of her hand.

I beat a hasty retreat to the manor, catching only two words from their conversation, _disgrace,_ and _Aiofe._


	2. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were the greenest eyes I had ever seen, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to get lost in them. My head swam, not from the wine, but from a tightening feeling that was beginning to ache in the pit of my stomach. I felt like a fish at the end of a line, the ache the hook embedded in my flesh, and he was the fisherman, drawing me in.

The blessing drug on for hours, the elderly knock stumbling over his words extending what already felt like a lifetime of torture. I picked at the remaining dirt beneath my short nails, imaging the horror of my tutors at the lack of manners. Beside me to my right, Grarog, Lord Hunter of the northern ogre tribe shifted from foot to foot, his axe clinking against his bone belt. He had just lost the bet, the ceremony now breaching the two hour mark. That left me and Kian, the Unseelie Court’s Royal Hunter.

Kian stood on my left, broad and regal in his blue velvet doublet, greying hair left loose to hang over his shoulders. He was the only other human I knew, having come to the Undying Lands as a child, abandoned by mortal parents. I had been overjoyed when the Indra had sent me to apprentice under him, the chance to interact with another human overwhelming I hardly slept for the month before my apprenticeship.

I was a terror those first few days, following Kian too closely, asking every question that came into my mind. He had been so different, had laughed so easily, had been warm, caring—things the Fae often lacked.

“Two more minutes and you lose,” Kian had bent down to whisper in my ear, grey streaked beard tickling my skin. I laughed, stifling the sound behind the sleeve of the forest green gown I had chosen for the occasion. My favorite dress with its sleeves and collar trimmed with rabbit fur, and most importantly Eion had said it complimented my figure quite handsomely.

“Not a chance, old man,” I hissed in return, bumping him with my shoulder. “I wonder what I’ll buy with my fifty coppers. A new string for my bow perhaps?”

Kian laughed again, blue eyes crinkling in mirth as the sound carried across the glade, attracting disapproving glances from a family of gnomes two rows ahead. “Three…two…one. Pay up, little dove.” Kian held out his leather-gloved hand expectantly.

I answered with an eye roll as I tossed him my coin purse, followed by a chorus of jingling coins as others passed theirs forward. “Looks like you win,” I hissed, biting back a smile. Before me, the elderly knock was still droning on. “Pity none of us will live long enough to use it.”

Kian shrugged, emptying the coins into his purse and tucking it into his belt. “Bury me with my winnings.”

“No promises,” I whispered in return, fidgeting with my dress for a moment before Kian enclosed my small fingers in his gloved hand.

“Your prince looks particularly handsome tonight,” he mused, tucking my arm beneath his, a gesture he had done since I was a girl when I had begun to fidget out of boredom. I followed his gaze to Eion who stood on the dais beside his mother dressed in forest green and brown, his red waves loose down his back, a crown of antlers upon his brow.

I hummed in agreement, studying Eion a moment longer. He was nervous, I could tell in the way his fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, the way his yellow eyes scanned the crowd much like a cornered animal. “It doesn’t matter and he’s not _my prince_.” I locked eyes with him for but a moment and the sharp smile that followed broke my heart.

Kian’s fingers tightened around my own. “Its the way of their world, little dove. Perhaps one day you will fall in love and forget all about the prince.”

I scoffed at his words, bitter laugh spilling from between my lips. Eion had turned back to the ceremony, his fists once again clenched at his sides. “No Fae would marry a human.”

“Well,” Kian squeezed my hand, “I suppose since you are the only other human I know of, you and I will have to just get it over with then.” I turned to him, eyes wide, full mouth agape in shock. Kian stared back, blue-grey eyes cool, thin lips beneath his beard set in a grim line. Then I saw it, the crinkling of skin at the corner of his eyes before he laughed again, white teeth shining in the torchlight.

“Ugh,” I wrinkled my nose in mock disgust. “I would rather be eaten alive by wolves then marry you, old man.” I found myself laughing as well, giggling turning the heads of our neighbors before being drowned out in cheers signifying the ceremony had finally ended.

I cast one last glance to the dais, to Eion, anointed blood dripping from his forehead to run down his high cheekbones. He was gone then, swallowed into the crowd, no doubt off to hunt down and trap his mate. Beside me Kian cleared his throat, my arm still tangled in his. “My lady?” He mocks bowed, looking every bit the gentleman he was not. “Shall we drink?”

“Not tonight, Kian. I’m sorry,” I answered, trying and failing to pull my hand free from his. Now that the ceremony had ended I wanted nothing more to trudge back to my rooms and pretend the ache in my chest was not there.

“As your only friend, I am not letting you wallow on a night like this.” Kian steered us to the wine casks, the crowd parting easily. I wanted to pretend it was his dignified position in the Unseelie Court and not the opportunity to stare at a pair of humans that parted the crowd so easily. “One drink?” He held out a goblet of honey wine, a drink he knew was my favorite, and based on the smug smirk that settled on his face he knew he had guessed correctly.

“One drink,” I answered, sipping at the honey wine knowing better than to finish it in one go. I had made that mistake once, on my first invitation to the dance. I had allowed Eion to ply me with a cup of honey wine, and when the sweetness enveloped my senses, I downed the whole goblet in one swig. I had awoken from the dance four days later in a field with none of my clothing and a half-naked Eion draped over me. Since that mistake, I had learned to hold my wine.

* * *

Kian spoke of the Unseelie Court, of his newest recruits, of a mighty stag he had killed on his last hunt, and I welcomed the distraction. His tales were told in a gentle tone and combined with the wine, I finally began to relax, body slumping against his, the nerves bleeding from my fingertips.

After a while, we attracted a following, a group of Fae who listened with rapt interest as Kian and I attempted to tell a more fanciful tale of a hunt than the last. Kian was so at ease, surrounded by the Fae, a sprite replacing me on his arm. He played with Kian’s greying waves with blue webbed fingers listening with what I could only assume was feigned attention.

It was unsurprising for him to receive such attention. Kian was broad and rugged, his face weathered from years of hunting and fighting. It was a look so unlike the smooth marble faces of the Fae—and at the rate, he was going, I gave him five minutes before he abandoned me.

“And the beast lunged, claws poised at my throat. Yet I was not afraid for my spear was clutched in my hand. And do you know what I did next?” The sprite’s purple eyes were wide as dinner plates as he listened to the story, fingers now stroking Kian’s chest hair through his unbuttoned doublet

“You killed it?” I asked before the sprite could answer, rolling my eyes and taking another sip of wine.

“Took its head clean off its body,” Kian continued shooting me a not at all concealed glare. Cheers rose from our small group, and the sprite leaned in to whisper something in Kian’s ear. Based on the filthy grin that followed, I could imagine what he had said. “Excuse us.”

I stopped Kian from following the sprite by gripping his forearm. ‘Where do you think you’re going?”

Kian laughed, cheeks warm with wine. He shrugged my grip off easily. “That young man has a beast he needs to be slain.”

“Kian,” I warned, looking nervously around at the dance starting up around us. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Aiofe you have plenty of time to run along home.” He shot me a warm smile. “And if not, remember, thrust through the ribs does the trick.” And then he was gone, leaving me alone with a group of Fae who had decided I was nowhere as interesting as my companion.

I drained my goblet in a quick swig. If I worked fast, I could make my way back to the manor without being trapped in the dance. So I went, weaving between crowds of Fae, making myself as small as possible. One hundred more steps…fifty steps…four…. A hand grabbed my waist and hauled me back against them.

“Where’s it going?” The voice hissed against my ear, tongue slinking out to lick against my cheek, stinking breath rolling over me, the wine rising as bile in my throat. An Urisk, I thought, looking down at the mottled grey hand that gripped my dress. “It tastessss sweet”

I struggled, breaking free only to be hauled back against the Urisk’s stinking body. If I survived this, I was going to kill Kian, I thought, jamming my elbow back into its hollow chest, the sickening crack of bone following. The Urisk roared back, hands tearing at my dress as it poised to strike.

“Are you okay my dear?” A warm hand was around my waist, a solid chest at my back. The voice that spoke was smooth, cultured, and I could guess belong to some sort of noble fae with a trumped-up sense of honor. “You wandered off while I went to get us wine, and I was so worried.”

The Urisk took one look at the newcomer behind me, eyes wide as it stammered out an apology before slinking back into the shadows. When it had gone, I visibly relaxed, sinking back against the stranger with a sigh.

“Thank you,” I breathed out, turning on shaking legs to regard my rescuer. He was obviously Fae, though did not bear the usual animal quality I had grown used to. Eion had his beautiful fox-like eyes, his mother her bird-like voice, others had horns and wings and bills and sharp teeth, but this stranger had nothing visible. Maybe he had a tail, my dizzy mind supplied—maybe he would show it to me if I asked nicely.

My rescuer was tall, lean, lithe, rather unremarkable in a Fae, all of which were tall and lithe. His hair was dark, loose chestnut waves that fell about his shoulder, that was different but not that interesting, most Fae preferred their hair long, some didn’t. I had teased Eion about his long flowing hair many times when we were fighting. It had been so easy to grip. This stranger, with his shortened hair, meant I would have to get up close if we were to spar.

“Are you mute,” he asked, elegant tone fading in the wake of impatience. I studied him again, he needed to have something remarkable about him, all Fae had something remarkable. The question came again, this time with even less patience than the first.

“What?” I asked dumbly, fingers smoothing over the very visible tear that was now in the waist of my favorite dress. I hoped I could fix it before the maids found out.

“I asked if you were okay. It is polite to answer when someone asks you a question, human.” Maybe his remarkable trait was being a complete ass. I bristled at his words, hands clenching in fists at my sides.

“And it is rude to assume someone is human,” I countered, jaw clenching in defiance, my eyes locking with his.

The stranger laughed then, a warm sound so unlike the musical laugh I associated with the Fae. If I wasn’t sufficiently drunk on honey wine, I would assume the warmth spreading up my spine grew from his laugh. “So it is. What is a human doing at the dance? Did some wretch bring you as entertainment?”

The warmth died as soon as it came, and I found myself squaring my shoulders against his words. I had dealt with Fae like him before, haughty and rude. The best of course of action was to leave, so I did, bowing sharply and turning back towards the manor and the promise of the comforts of my bed.

His hand was suddenly at my waist, drawing me back to him, my stumbling form colliding with his surprisingly solid body, my arms instinctually splaying along the cool dark silk covering his chest. He grunted at the collision, fingers tightening on my hips. “Such a rude creature,” he mused, thumb stroking along my waist. I looked up at him, eyes wide as saucers when I realized it. His eyes were the green of the sky before a storm, of shifting blades of grass in a field, of the first press of green after a thaw.

They were the greenest eyes I had ever seen, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to get lost in them. My head swam, not from the wine, but from a tightening feeling that was beginning to ache in the pit of my stomach. I felt like a fish at the end of a line, the ache the hook embedded in my flesh, and he was the fisherman, drawing me in.

With a pull of the string, I felt a wrenching in my chest and I gasped, fingers tightening against the fabric of his shirt, the silk fraying against my nails. I was caught, struggling on the line, one half of me straining toward my freedom, the other reeled towards my inevitable doom.

The string between us pulled taught, and I thought it would surely snap from the weight, yet again I felt the wrenching in my chest. His fingers tightened to the point of pain around my waist and I realized he must have felt it too. And then with one last tug, I was wrenched free, a fish sputtering and thrashing as it was pulled from water to the cold, unforgiving land. I knew if I looked between us my heart would be in his hands as his would be in mine, a gaping hole left from where he pulled it free.

We didn’t speak, didn’t need to, vibrant green locked with honey brown, spring thaw, and fall harvest. His lips were on mine then, and I didn’t know who kissed first him or me. I only knew the soft and insistent press of his lips against mine, his tongue begging entrance, and then his taste, wine, honey, and something sharper.

I groaned into the kiss, fingers pulling on his shirt to bring us closer, to allow him to press a thigh between my legs. I couldn’t breathe, this stranger had possessed me so fully, so wholly, I was not sure where he ended and I began. His kiss was the air, the sweetest panacea, and I knew if I did not taste it for the rest of my life I would surely wither and die.

His hands were everywhere at once, pulling at the ties of my dress, in my hair, against my skin as he bared every inch of it to his gaze. I was drunk on him, arching into his touch, eager for his skin against mine. He obliged, elegant fingers joining mine to tear at his shirt as if he could sense the desperation in my touch, the craving that lay just below the surface of my skin.

His skin was pale under the light of the full moon, a warm golden pink that spoke of flesh warmed often by sunlight. I wanted to see more of it, I thought, hands clumsily pulling his shirt up and over his head. Now bared to my touch, my hands skirted over his lithe, muscular torso, fingers dipping and gliding along the plains of his stomach. Lean with broad shoulders, an archer’s torso, I thought.

I cupped his jaw in my small hands, felt the gentle pulse of his rabbit heart against my skin, the scrape of dark stubble against my palm, as I leaned in and kissed him. He in return pressed us to the ground, the grass cool against my bare back, lips never leaving my own save to gasp for air between kisses, his breath sweetly mingling with mine. He was over me then, slender hips pressing me to the grass, both of us bare as babes.

He took his pleasure then and gave me mine. With each press of his lips, my pulse raced, my mind reeled, and that string between us pulled taught. He was everywhere all at once, fingers pressed so sweetly between my thighs, his mouth swallowing my cries of pleasure. I could not breathe, my mind narrowing to a point of single-mindedness, of my green-eyed lover and the ecstasy he drew forth from my body.

And when he was finally seated within me, the flash of pain giving way to a wholeness, a feeling of completeness in my very soul. I felt it, the weight in my hand, his heart, I thought, if I were to look down I would hold his heart as he held mine. I squeezed my fist, the soft dripping blood warming my skin, staining my thighs and the grass beneath us. I pressed my fingers to my lips, urging him to do the same. It was communion, a merging, the burst of blood on our tongues.

It was the sweetest taste I had ever known, and as I pressed our lips together, his blood mingling with mine, a craving settled deep in my soul. I needed to feel him against me, within me. My hips snapped to meet his thrusts, cries mingling with his own, sounds spilling forth between our joined lips when we gasped for air.

I didn’t care about the dance around us, the chorus of music reaching its crescendo, it was only him and I. It would only ever be us, the two us forever, joined at the heart by the sweetest of unions.

His thrusts faltered, rhythm fading, the string between us tightening and looping. When we both finally cried out in our shared ecstasy, the sound echoing through the night, I felt the string between our two souls knot and tie tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters because I have so much of this written already, and wanted to share more!
> 
> xoxo Conqueso


	3. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been one rule, one rule my tutor had stressed to me when I had been a girl. I could drink my fill of wine, eat as much meat and sweets my belly could hold, dance every night under the moon, but I was not to couple with the Fae during the light of a full moon. A full moon, my tutor explained, tapping my forehead when my mind wandered, was when matings occurred, when Fae bound themselves to each other. A heart line, that was what he had called it. The full moon bound heart lines, knotted them, joining a pair. Last night, the dance, it had been a full moon…

I awoke to the metallic taste of blood on my tongue and the sticky feeling of grass stuck to my back. My mind was a haze of warm content and cloying satisfaction. I stretched against the grass, back arching, joints popping, groaning from a night of abuse.

The dance! I shot up sharply, hands clutching my chest to shield my nakedness. Law! The wine! Once my head stopped throbbing and I found my dress, I was going to find Kian and strangle him with my bare hands. Ugh, and I swore I would never get drunk on honey wine again. Eion was going to tease me about this for days.

Rising on shaky legs, I thrashed wildly when a strong hand gripped my waist and hauled me back against a cool, bare chest. I screamed then, startling a pair of pixies from a nearby bush and prompting my companion to clap a long elegant hand over my mouth with a groan. I stilled, realization sinking into me at the feel of his skin on mine.

I knew that hand, knew those fingers—Eion! My heart soared, form relaxing against his, hand joining his, lips pressed sweetly to his palm. Eion shifted behind me, groaning at the touch, sweat dampened forehead pressing between my shoulder blades, hand splayed against my soft belly shifting to draw me closer.

Something odd startled me from my joy, and I felt it then, the cool metal, a ring in the shape of a raven on his middle finger traced along the seam of my lips. Eion had never worn a ring as that and I had never seen him wear any sort of jewelry before— I wonder where he had gotten it. A potential suitor perhaps, a supplicant—it didn’t matter, I was safe in his arms, the comforting weight of him against my back soothing the fear still rolling in my chest.

“Are you quite finished?” The question was impatient, rude, the cultured voice smooth, elegant, and nothing like Eion’s warm teasing flirtations. Eyes wide, panic rising in my heart, I thrashed against him, my elbow connecting with a smooth chest, my companion releasing me with a grunt of pain. I scrambled back, my legs tangling, my back hitting the grass with a thud as I fell a few steps away.

I was able to see him then, my companion, meet his too green eyes narrowed in barely concealed annoyance. I knew those eyes, had looked so longingly into them, had met them one last time before succumbing to sleep—the man, the Fae from the party. It hadn’t been a dream, hadn’t been a trick of the wine, he was real…he was real!

He reached for me and I scrambled back, repulsed by the idea of his skin against mine. My back hit a nearby tree, bark scratching my skin as I pulled myself to standing, legs, and arms shaking, whole body shaking. He followed, long legs lifting him elegantly, gracefully.

He was still studying me, body trapping mine against the bark of the tree, eyes no longer narrowed in annoyance, but instead crinkled in plain amusement. “Aren’t you quite a specimen,” he stated, thin lips upturned in a lopsided smile, and Law above, were those dimples on his cheeks? His eyes left mine, trailing over my broad shoulders, down past my too full breasts tipped with rosy nipples, past the soft creamy white of my belly to settle at the crux of dark hair between my thighs.

I followed his gaze…and that was…was… I could feel it then, the wetness on my thighs, the trail of blood running from between, mixed with the whiteness of seed….his seed. And I…I…the bile rose up before I could stop it, and I vomited, honey wine staining the perfectly manicured row of summer flowers. We were…I….

There had been one rule, one rule my tutor had stressed to me when I had been a girl. I could drink my fill of wine, eat as much meat and sweets my belly could hold, dance every night under the moon, but I was not to couple with the Fae during the light of a full moon. A full moon, my tutor explained, tapping my forehead when my mind wandered, was when matings occurred, when Fae bound themselves to each other. A heart line, that was what he had called it. The full moon bound heart lines, knotted them, joining a pair. Last night, the dance, it had been a full moon…I had felt the knotting…the…

I vomited again, throat raw and aching from the bile, and I coughed, choking for air, arms tight around my middle. He was beside me then, still bare, green eyes studying the vomit with an unnerving level of interest. “Are you going to keep doing that?”

“No,” I gasped out, breath coming in sharp pants as I doubled over, arms tightening around myself. “No, it's finished.”

His hand was on my back, tentative, hesitant as if he was unsure of the gesture as if comfort was a foreign feeling, something he had never given before. I knew he had never given comfort before, Fae never gave comfort, never cared enough to give it. It was a lesson I had learned as a child, after the first scrape of my knee, when I had been left squalling on the grass, my nursemaid cold and distant.

The Seelie Queen had stopped my crying with a glare and a lesson. I would find no comfort amongst her court, and if I did not develop a thicker skin, then I would die. Harsh words for a child, but the truth. Cold and unfeeling, carved from the smoothest marble, Fae never showed their emotions, never wore their heart on their sleeve.

Yet this…this…I didn’t even know his name, yet his hand was a warm weight on my bare back, fingers stroking the skin. A sharp contrast to the look of disgust the pinched his sharp features. A kiss followed, the soft press of his lips to the bare skin of my shoulder, the rub of stubble roughened cheek against my shoulder blade.

I felt it then, the tightening of the string where his skin met mine, the soft tingle of magic, and I tore to standing, pushing his hand away to wrench my hair back from where it lay against my chest.

It was strangely beautiful, the pair of raven feathers inked over my heart, dark purply stokes stark against my pale skin. The marked pulsed, warm beneath my questing fingers, a groan of unsettling pleasure torn free from my companion. He touched his, equally stark against the paleness of his chest, right beside the smattering of dark hair.

As if his fingers were against my skin, I could feel him caress my mark though he did not touch me. He stroked again, this time against something deeper, and I moaned, legs giving out from the wave of pleasure that washed over me, through me. “What have you done,” I gasped between the cresting waves, fingers tearing at the grass as he pressed harder, long fingers massaging at the mark, tearing another moan from between my clenched teeth.

“Well…would you look at that,” he murmured, fingers tracing one last time over the feathers with a dreamy sigh. He was on me then, flipping me onto my back with shaking hands, his slim hips settling into the cradle of mine to press me into the grass. He wrapped an arm around my waist to haul me roughly against his chest, identical raven feather marks trapped between our joined bodies.

I gasped, arching into him, fingers tearing at the black waves of his hair to pull him closer, the marks sending blinding heat chased with pleasure through my veins. He groaned in turn, lips burning a bruising path down my neck to settle on the mark. The first gentle brush of lips against the ink had me gasping, stars exploding behind my eyes, a wordless cry wrenching free from somewhere deep in my throat.

“Aiofe?” I tore free, my companion sprawling on his back with a less than dignified groan. I wanted to run, shame tingling up my spine, rosy blush settling on my cheeks, and spread no doubt all over my body. I felt very much like a child caught stealing from the kitchen, like a serving girl caught with the king between her legs. “Are you…”

Eion’s flush matched mine, his eyes studying the tree canopy with a frightening level of interest. I was thankful for his modesty for once in my life, and for the soft fabric of my dress as my companion…mate pressed it into my hand.

I pulled it on, ignoring the rip in the side, the very clear tear down the bodice where he had… He followed suit, pulling on his trousers with an annoyed groan, fingers never truly leaving my skin as we dressed in silence. I finally spoke, finally mustered the courage to speak. “Hello,” I murmured, trying and failing to will the blush to halt its creeping path up to the tips of my ears. “I was just…we were just…” I stumbled over my words, tongue thick in my mouth.

“Hello, princeling,” the haughty greeting came somewhere from over my left shoulder. The stranger…my…the words would not form in my mind… was behind me, the heat of his skin warming my back through my clothing and his. “Nice night, I take it?” Eion flushed deeper, elegant fingers absentmindedly stroking at the bit of exposed flesh right above his heart where the faint curling of a green stag’s head peaked from below the collar of his moss green shirt.

I…oh…it was a mating mark, he had a mating mark, and though I could still feel the warmth of the raven feathers beneath against my skin, a pang of jealously cleaved through my chest. “Oh, Eion,” I sighed, stepping forward, forced myself to step forward and clasp his fingers between mine. “That's wonderful news!” I knew my smile was too bright, words too enthusiastic, but I needed something to cover nausea rolling through my gut at the feel of his soft hands in mine.

A sharp inhale came in reply from the Fae resting his hand protectively on my waist, the mark between us surging with a fiery bolt of pain so sharp I let Eion’s hands go with a gasp. “Congratulations, princeling,” he added not bothering to conceal the boredom in his voice.

“I…thank you, Rhys” Eion bowed his head, fox eyes wide as saucers, his elegant hand bunched into fists at his sides. Eion bowed….Eion bowed to him…to my…Why had he bowed? As prince of the Seelie Court, he was obligated to bow to no one, for no one save… I caught a flash of green over my shoulder, another wave of bile rising in my throat. It couldn’t be…“And I suppose congratulations are in order for you as well?”

I nodded sheepishly, hands wrung into knots behind my back. Warm rough fingers closed on mine, stilling my fidgeting with a brush of calloused thumb against my wrist. “Eion…I…can we talk?”

My companion stilled his stroking, and if I listened close enough I could have sworn a growl tumbled from his lips. “I have business to attend to, a ghrá mo chroí. I shall see you this evening for dinner?”

I found myself nodding, bottom lip sucked between my teeth. “Aiofe,” I replied, realizing we did not know each other's names. He turned me to face him, hands warm on my waist, eyes so green as they met mine. The same crooked smile played on his lips, the same flash of dimples I was rapidly growing to find endearing.

“Rhys,” he murmured, forefinger tracing along my cheekbone.

I upturned my chin towards him, words of agreement hummed from between my parted lips. His long finger traced one tight circle round the exposed tip of the interlocking feathers above my heart. I expected the press of cool lips to mine, needed the press of cool lips against mine.

“A ghrá mo chroí,” he whispered, breath mingling sweetly with mine. And then he was gone, my heart uncomfortably aching as I watched him go.

* * *

Eion walked exactly sixes paces ahead, silent as the grave, his hands still fisted at his sides. I could see the anger in his posture, feel the tension as it radiated off him in waves. I opened and closed my mouth several times, failing each time to conjure the words to say.

“You’ve been mated?” I finally asked, no longer able to stand the uncomfortable silence between us. Eion stilled, stopping beside a row of rose bushes, the same where we had shared our kiss, where he had begged me to mate with him not a day ago.

“Aye, a Sluagh. His name is Mathias,” Eion answered, fingers stroking absentmindedly over the antlers of the stag’s head on his chest. I had seen this Sluagh, he had been the only one there last night. Tall, nearly as tall as Eion himself, with lanky grey hair and shining grey skin. He had been handsome, and despite the pang of jealousy still fresh in my chest, I was glad for him.

“Oh, Eion, that’s wonderful!” I smiled, bright, wide, and for the first time, it was a genuine smile. Eion did not return my smile.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Eion spat, finally breaking the silence between us. I stopped, heart, wrenching at his words, at the anger behind them.

“What?” I asked dumbly, fingers gripping the fabric of my skirts to still the storm brewing beneath my skin.

“You know,” Eion continued, face twisting into a sneer, “my mother always told me you wanted nothing more from me than my title. I suppose she was right after all.” The last words were spat out, venom dripping from beneath the cracks in his armor.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” My hands were shaking, fingernails boring new holes in the already torn fabric of my dress.

“Are you truly that big of a fool, Aiofe?” These words, they were not Eion, not my Eion. My Eion was kind hearted, never raised his voice. “Do you not know you’ve let between your pretty thighs?”

The…I couldn’t breathe, fingers clutching at the mark, skirting along the bare skin, nails digging into the flesh as if I could rip the mark free. It pulsed beneath my fingertips, soothing warmth spreading beneath my skin comforting me. My stomach churned, head spun, bile rising in my throat. I hadn’t…wouldn’t pledge myself to such a monster. “Mating marks don’t work on humans…”

“Apparently they do,” he spat in return, hand lashing out to strike the tree before him. “Gods, Aiofe! How could you be so stupid?”

“I wasn’t…I didn’t!” I was shaking now, fear and rage roiling in my gut. I wanted to strike him, strike Rhys, strike them all. To run back to my room, clean away the dried blood on my thighs, scrub my skin so hard I would peel away the mark.

“It was supposed to be you!” He hissed out the words, rage coloring his cheeks the same red of his hair. “It was supposed to be you, not some Sluagh! If I closed my eyes tight enough I could pretend it was dark curls beneath my fingers, honey brown eyes that looked up at me with such love!”

I gasped a soundless cry, clutching at the mark, the pain that burned from it. “Please stop!”

“I loved you, Aiofe! I still love you!” Eion’s hands were tight on my chin as he tipped my face towards him—I felt as though I had been looking at the sun, dark spots dancing in my vision.

“Please don’t say these things…” I whispered, shrinking into myself, longing for either the ground to swallow me whole or Rhys to draw me safe into his arms.

“I let you play the innocent, the virgin.” Eion was shaking, the rage seething from his very pores. “All the while I waited, let you feed me lies!” _Thwack!_ His fist collided with a tree trunk leaves falling around his in a rainfall of autumn leaves.

“Eion, I never…” I needed to reason with him, to make him understand that this was all against my will, that I hadn’t wanted any of this. That deep down I had wanted my mate to be him as well.

“We couldn’t mate because you were human, and I tried to understand, tried to let you go. And then you spread your legs for the first Fae who is kind to you?!”

“That isn’t what happened and you know it.” I recoiled from him, eyes burning as tears welled behind them.

“You have made me your fool, Aiofe! Shall I gift you my heart on a platter since you have deemed it worth tearing from my chest?” Fox like eyes regarded me coldly, the rage in him bleeding was to something much worse—cold indifference.

“That was never my intention. Eion, if you would let me explain…”

“Explain what? You know nothing of this place, just stumble around blindly in hopes that someone will rescue you when you get into trouble.” Eion’s hands were on mine again, and this time I did retch, stomach clenching unpleasantly at the feeling.

“I don’t…I can’t breathe…” My breath came in choked gasps, bile thick in my throat.

“And now, you’ve stumbled into the worst danger of all! Do you truly not know the monster you have mated with?”

“Eion, stop!” I cried, arms wrapping around my middle, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. I knew then to what sort of man I had bound myself… the bow, the fear behind Eion’s eyes. I couldn’t have…I didn’t… My head hurt, my chest hurt, my mark burned against my skin. Rhys wasn’t…couldn’t be…he was kind… “Please stop…I…” I did not know my…not know his…my…my mate.

“The Raven King,” he spat, fox eyes wild, hair spilling from its plait, his shoulders shaking with silent rage. “You’ve sworn yourself to the fucking Raven King.”


	4. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest offered silence, solitude, an escape from the sweet words whispered in my ear, the warmth of the mating mark where it burned against my skin. And though I sought such solitude, the forest offered no solace from my thoughts. For each time I resigned myself to the silence about me, my mind drifted to eyes the color of spring thaw and the ties that bound us tight. To the words, the Raven King had whispered so sweetly against my lips.

The forest was silent around me save for the occasional cry of a hawk and the gentle rustling of leaves in the warm summer wind. Just ahead, a doe wandered out from the copse of trees to graze on the apple grass that blanketed the glade. She sniffed the air once, twice until she decided that all was well and resumed her grazing.

I shifted in my perch, the branches of the trees digging into my back through the thin fabric of my now thankfully patched shirt. The doe made two circles around the glade before wandering off to greener pastures. The breath I had been holding escaped my lips in a loud whoosh and I relaxed back into the bark of the tree. Below, my pack and bow lay long since discarded.

In truth, I had escaped to the forest not to hunt, but to simply flee from the thoughts reeling through my mind. I wanted to escape Eion and his disapproving gaze, the whispers of the Fae as I passed. Whispers that I had pledged myself to the Unseelie Court, to the Raven King.

The forest offered silence, solitude, an escape from the sweet words whispered in my ear, the warmth of the mating mark where it burned against my skin. And though I sought such solitude, the forest offered no solace from my thoughts. For each time I resigned myself to the silence about me, my mind drifted to eyes the color of spring thaw and the ties that bound us tight. To the words, the Raven King had whispered so sweetly against my lips.

 _A ghrá mo chroí_ , he had murmured in a language I did not understand, yet it felt so sweet, so intimate, and the memory brought unbidden warmth to my cheeks. The man who had spoken such words was the Raven King, a monster, a creeping phantom from the stories told in hushed whispers by our governess.

She had spoken of a creature, more monster than man, who would steal into our dreams under the cover of darkness and steal away all the goodness in our hearts. Every child was taught to fear the Unseelie King, the darkness of his court, yet the man with whom I had bound myself was not a monster.

Rude, impatient, but that did not constitute a monster. He did not compel me to lie with him, did not demand his pleasure, did not steal away the happiness and goodness in my heart. Quite the opposite. The warmth of the mark filled me with a strange unbidden joy I had not felt before and though I found myself horrified by the notion of being mated to the Raven King, I longed for his touch, for the sweet whispers of words I did not understand.

The warm air did little to quench the heat that radiated from the mark to settle deep within my belly, to the clenching ache that spread from there. I slid easily from the tree, and once my boots touched the ground I pressed my fevered cheeks to the cool bark, my eyes fluttering closed as I tried to still my panicked heart.

The ache came again, deeper, surer, and I could not stifle the moan that spilled from between my lips. I was burning, consumed by the fire that spread from the mark. My body clenched, ached, longed for elegant fingers to fill it, to press so sweetly between my thighs. “Mo chroí,” I gasped out his words, clumsily, tripping over each syllable, my fingers tearing at the laces to my breeches. I stroked along the fevered flesh that lay beneath, the flesh that clenched and ached and fluttered with desire, with an ache to be filled.

My head hit the tree trunk with a dull thud, braid unraveling as I writhed in ecstasy, breath sharp pants, voice reduced to whines of _a ghrá mo chroí_ until I could make little other noise save a sharp inhale of breath.

“Quite a sight, to find the royal huntress so off guard.” The cry I let out at those words startled a doe from her hiding place at the edge of the glade. I saw just for a moment a flash of green eyes and a lopsided grin before I dove behind the tree. “Do not stop on my account, mo chroí.”

My fingers laced my breeches nearly as fast as I had unlaced them, my cheeks warmer than before, and I was sure I would burst into flames. I would be thankful at that moment to burst into flames. “Milord,” I bit out the title, willing my voice to remain steady, “I apologize that you have found me in such a state.”

“Milord?” The teasing laugh came again, inflaming my already scarlet cheeks. “Have you forgotten my name already, little huntress?” His hands found mine, pulled them free from where they were clapped over my eyes.

“And have you forgot mine so soon?” I answered, breathlessly, my heart still racing, ache still throbbing deep within my belly. Rhys laughed again, a rich sound that sent my heart soaring until I longed to hear nothing but that noise.

“Aiofe, beauty,” he murmured, lips soft upon my palm, “how could I forget such a name, a ghrá mo chroí?”

“The things you say.” My head spun, my heart raced, and the pretty words that tumbled from between his lips sounded very dangerous. I drew back, gathering my pack and bow to sling both over my shoulder. “I should return to court, excuse me.”

“Are you so frightened?” His warm hand was on my forearm. “To be alone with the wicked Raven King?” Features stern, brow furrowed, Rhys looked very much like the rogues from the tales Eion and I had read as children by the light of our waning candles. “To be alone with your mate?” Then I saw it, the flash of endearing dimple, the quirk at the corner of his thin lips.

“You’re teasing me,” I answered, drawing my arm back sharply, a scowl twisting my features.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He didn’t try to conceal his lopsided grin, the teasing sparkle in his green eyes. Green, the color of the first sprouting of grass after the spring thaw. “I apologize, a ghrá mo chroí, I had hoped to invite you to walk with me.” He held out his arm, green eyes meeting my own expectantly. “I heard a pair of serving girls mention a pond nearby.”

I was intimately familiar with the pond of which he spoke, had swum in it many times when I came to the forest to hunt. It was my oasis, my escape from the confines of the court, and the thought of sharing it with him turned my stomach, rekindled the ache in the pit of my stomach. “It's not far,” I murmured, surprised when some otherworldly force compelled me to take his arm.

The mark, I reasoned, the mark forced me to need him, to crave his touch, to mold my body to his as we walked. I looked warily at my companion, expecting him to steal me away, to say something cruel. Instead, he answered my stare with a lopsided grin and a flash of a dimple. He was the Raven Kin, my mind screamed, a villain, a monster, not the charming Fae who walked alongside me. Sensing my wandering mind, Rhys tapped the tip of my nose with an elegant finger, drawing me from my thoughts. “Did you grow up in the Seelie Court?”

“Are you asking if I was brought to the Undying Lands as a child?If I had been, would you pledge yourself willingly to such a creature?” I knew that was not what he was truly asking, his question was not as innocent as he thought. Rhys was asking if he had bound himself to a changeling, a human child stolen away to live with the Fae. And he had. “I am a changeling, stolen as a babe so that another child may live.” I drew my arm from him to walk ahead. “Does that color your view of me? Do you regret mating with such a beast?”

He was by my side again, arm wrapping around my waist instead of looping through my own. “Never, mo chroí.” Rhys sighed, his cheek resting against my wild curls. “I had thought there were no changelings left in the Undying Lands. The Law forbids Fae from crossing the Wall.”

“The woman who stole me from my family, ” I sighed, “she was found by the Seelie Court trying to cross back and was killed. Because no Fae can cross the Wall, I was raised by the Seelie Court.”

“Alongside the prince,” he mused. “An interesting upbringing for a human.”

“Not so interesting, I’m afraid, at least for one such as the Raven King.” He smiled against my hair, answering warmth spreading from the mark.

“You are the only person in the Seelie Court who does not speak my name with fear or hatred coloring their voice. It is refreshing, mo chroí,” his fingers squeezed my waist. “And I think you’ll find that my stories aren’t as fascinating as you think.”

“The famed Unseelie King has no stories to tell? What of all the maidens you have deflowered? Monsters you have slain?”

“Well,” I could hear the warmth in his voice, the laughter barely contained beneath the surface, “I have deflowered one maiden. Rescued her from an Urisk she insisted on tangling with.A tiny creature, the wild she-beast, with curls the color of chocolate and the most alluring figure.”

I found myself giggling at his words, “Is that so?” Rhys hummed in agreement, his hand tightening on my waist, his lips a sweet pressure on my hair.

The lake came into view, shimmering blue surrounded by a field of purple wildflowers. My breath caught at the sight, the way the flowers rippled in the warm breeze, the sunlight as it peeked over the tall trees, the comforting press of my mate at my side. It felt like a fairytale-like, a long-forgotten dream.

“Tá sé go hálainn,” Rhys sighed, fixing me with a breathtaking grin that had all my blood rushing to my cheeks. “I see the allure.”

“I come here often in the warmer months,” I replied, fingers tracing along the wildflowers as we walked to the edge. “It's so peaceful in the daylight, and I find it's the perfect place to hide from the rest of the court.”

“I cannot imagine someone beautiful as you ever being able to hide,” Rhys murmured, turning to me, his form flanked in soft yellow sunlight. My heart clenched painfully at the sight. I turned from him, to cross the sea of wildflowers to the silvery willow tree that hung over the water.

“The things you say.” I settled at the base of the tree amongst the flowers, unsure if it was because his words made me dizzy or that I needed to hide. “I am a human amongst the Fae. Small, inconsequential. No one ever pays me any mind,” I answered softly, gaze fixed on the water before me.

A pair of slender hands drew me from my melancholy, tipped my chin up til I met eyes of the purest green. Rhys pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead, his hands tightening along my jaw. “Do not say such things, mo chroí. In your green gown, you were the fairest creature at the Dance.” Another kiss, this time pressed to the tip of my round nose. “All eyes followed you as you went.” Lips pressed to each of my cheeks. “When I saw you, so strong, mo chroí. Such fire.” His lips skirted along my jaw just above his fingertips. “I had to have you as my own.” Warm lips pressed to mine, his tongue begging entrance.

I relented, his taste—wine and honey, overwhelmed me, consumed me. Rhys pushed me back into the grass, covered my body with his own, the heavy weight of him above me comforting, alluring, dizzying. His lips found the mark beneath the collar of my white cotton shirt, and I cried out, fingers clawing uselessly at his back. “Undress,” he groaned against the skin of my jaw, his hips pressing into the cradle of my own.

“We can’t,” I panted, mind scrabbling for my racing thoughts, to gain control of my limbs again. “Not here.”

“Do you intend,” Rhys sat up, trapping my squirming hips between his thighs, “to swim fully clothed, mo chroí?” He pulled his dark cloth shirt over his head, giving me full view of his naked torso.

I found myself following the strong lines of his muscular arms, to his chest, sprinkled with dark hair, to follow that line of hair over the plains of his flat stomach, to the waistband of his black breeches where they hung ever so low on his hips. “Do you?” I asked, surprised by my boldness as my fingers toyed with the laces.

Something in his eyes darkened at my boldness and he tore to standing, making quick work of his boots and breeches until he was bare as a babe. I found myself following suit. Normally ashamed of my nakedness, I did not hesitate to strip off my clothing until I was as bare as he. “Beautiful,” Rhys murmured, drawing me closer, his hand under my knees as he pulled me into his arms.

“I am perfectly capable of walking,” I giggled as he carried me into the water, the wet warmth surrounding us. “And swimming on my own.”

“Shh, mo chroí.” He silenced my complaining with a kiss. “This is much better, I promise.” The warmth enclosed us then as Rhys dipped below the surface. The water was clear, so clear I could see him in perfect detail, the paleness of his skin, shimmering as he swam from me to the deeper parts of the pond.

I surfaced, sputtering, my breath coming in sharps pants, the mass of my curls matted over my eyes. I pushed my hair back, expecting Rhys to be grinning back at me, but I was alone, the glade silent save for the occasional gust of wind rippling through the field of wildflowers. “Rhys?”

Hands gripped my thighs, pulled them to wrap around slim hips, and then he was there, brushing his hair back from his face, his grin nearly as bright as the sunlight that warmed my skin. “I see why you come here so often, mo chroí.” His long fingers splayed against my back to hold me flush to his chest.

I hummed in agreement, suddenly very at ease. I could pretend the man who whispered sweet things in my ear and held me ever so closely was not the Raven King. He was just Rhys, the handsome Fae to whom I had given my heart.

“Your brow creases in the most adorable way when you think too hard,” Rhys observed, kissing the wrinkles between my brows in emphasis. “And you seem to have a habit of overthinking things.”

“I…” I opened and shut my mouth several times as I tried to find the words I wanted to say. “Why me?” I blurted out the question.

“Why you?” Rhys drew back, his grip on my back loosening. “You are asking why we are mates, mo chroí?”

I nodded, my face buried in the skin of his neck, suddenly very ashamed of my question. “You could have chosen any Fae woman, they would have been willing. Why couple yourself to a filthy human?”

“Mo chroí,” the endearment came as a warning. “Aiofe, look at me.” I shook my head in answer. “Please look at me.” His command was soft, gentle, the long fingers rubbing at my shoulder blades drawing me from my hiding spot.

“Rhys, I…”

“Let me speak,” he interrupted, green eyes narrowed in barely concealed anger. “The Law does not allow us to choose our mates, it instead chooses for us. And even if I had my pick of the Fae at the Dance, I still would have chosen you.” I moved to speak, silenced again by another scolding glare. “They may look down on you here, but I can assure you, that in my court, all creatures are treated equally be it human or Fae.” His glare faded, eyes softening, the anger replaced by something my mind uncomfortably called love. “I will not have you think so little of yourself, mo chroí. You are not plain or inconsequential. You are powerful, strong, and by far the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure to lay eyes upon.”

“The mark, Rhys. The mark is making you say these things.”

“Even if it was the mark, it does not make my words less true,” he murmured, silencing my complaints with a kiss. “Come now, we must hurry back or the Camellia will think I have spirited you away.”

Rhys was respectful, his back turned as I dressed, and when we made our way back towards the Seelie Court, he simply held my hand in his. He stole no kisses, whispered no sweet words, seemed content to only have me close to him.

“Will I see you at dinner?” I asked once we parted at the entrance to the manor.

“Of course. I intend to present you as my queen before the Seelie Court,” Rhys answered, fingers stroking the skin of my wrist. He leaned close, lips brushing my ear lobe. “We have company, mo chroí,” he whispered before drawing back, his arms clasped behind his back. A mockery of a perfect gentleman.

Eion approached, a bracer of rabbits slung over his shoulder, his red waves coming loose from their plait. “There you are,” he called, smile hesitant, unsure. “I wanted to apologize for how I treated you earlier.”

“Eion…I…” My mind failed to conjure the words.

“Princeling,” Rhys growled, his whole form going rigid. “How nice of you to interrupt us.”

“Interrupt?” Eion looked as he had swallowed a bug, his features pinched in disgust.

“I was just convincing my alluring mate to let me join her in the bath,” he answered, hands gripping my hips to pull me flush against him. I squeaked in surprise, fingers splayed against the damp fabric of his shirt to steady myself. “But alas, she clings to her courtly honor. Run along, mo chroí. I shall see you at dinner.”

Rhys pushed me towards the door with a swat to my bottom, and as I scurried upstairs, face beet red, I caught one last glance of a pair of eyes. One foxlike, narrowed in disapproval, the other the green of fresh grass, alight with something my heart achingly called love.


	5. Unfamiliar Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was fear, fear of the Raven King—of the darkness that haunted the Undying Lands. Every woman, man, and child knew of the horrors of the Unseelie Court. It was a tale whispered in the dark before bed, a tale of men more monsters than Fae, of carnage, of fear and terror. If you didn’t behave, then the Unseelie Court would claim you, steal you away in the night while you slept. That was what our nursemaid had whispered, had told us of the monsters that awaited all drawn to the darkness. Eion and I had laughed at her words, naive children that we were. I hadn’t known then that I would pledge myself willingly to that darkness, that I would accept it into my very soul.

The bathwater had long since gone cold. I lay beneath the tepid water, shoulders barely cresting the surface, knees pressed to my chest to shield myself from the outside world. To shield me from…

No one had bothered me in the hours since, not even the serving girl who filled my bath. She had laid eyes on the raven feathers above my heart when I had undressed, had looked as if she would faint, only just managing to stutter out _my lady_ before rushing out the door.

It was fear, fear of the Raven King—of the darkness that haunted the Undying Lands. Every woman, man, and child knew of the horrors of the Unseelie Court. It was a tale whispered in the dark before bed, a tale of men more monsters than Fae, of carnage, of fear and terror. If you didn’t behave, then the Unseelie Court would claim you, steal you away in the night while you slept. That was what our nursemaid had whispered, had told us of the monsters that awaited all drawn to the darkness. Eion and I had laughed at her words, naive children that we were. I hadn’t known then that I would pledge myself willingly to that darkness, that I would accept it into my very soul.

My sob cut through the quiet of the room, harsh sound of pain ripped from my throat, my fingers clutching at the mark, and the warmth and comfort it emitted.

A knock echoed through the room, a gruff call following. “My lady? May I come in?”

I knew that voice! I stumbled out of the bath, water sloshing over the edge. I didn’t bother to dry, instead fastening my emerald green robe about my waist, the ruined silk sticking to my wet skin.

I was on him the moment I threw open the doors, arms tight around his neck, my face buried in his greying hair. He smelled of sweat and pine, and as his arms wrapped around my back I relaxed into the touch overjoyed that I felt no maliciousness pour from the mark. “Kian!” I breathed out once he set me down, fingers still gripped in the charcoal fabric of his worn overcoat.

Kian pushed back, flopping dramatically onto my large bed with a sigh, the pillows bouncing around him as he settled. I joined him, my head resting on his bicep, his arm about my shoulder. “I’ve come to escort you to dinner, my lady.”

I sat up sharply, honey brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. “My lady? Kian you have never once referred to me by any title. Why start now?”

“Well…” Kian was suddenly sheepish, hand thrown over his eyes with a groan. “Before you were not my queen.” The explanation was quiet, muffled behind his arm.

“Kian, you are my dearest friend, I won’t have formality ruining that,” I warned, hands settling in my lap, fingers playing with the silk of my robe. “Why are you here?”

“To fetch you for dinner, as I said before. Have you gone deaf?” He removed his arm to reveal a teasing smile.I smacked his forehead gently before crossing to my wardrobe. “And Rhys may have asked that I personally escort you.” I froze vision blurring, the colors of the dresses before me blending together as tears welled in my eyes. Kian had never spoken of Rhys, had never spoken much of the Unseelie Court. Even my apprenticeship was beyond its borders, safe within the lands of the Seelie Queen. Kian seemed well enough, always seemed well enough, never was frightened or injured. Perhaps the Unseelie Court was not as vile as the stories, perhaps they were just stories.

I took small comfort in the thought, that perhaps I hadn’t mated with a monster. “Did he tell you?” My voice was small, soft, afraid. I was a child caught with a secret.

“He did,” Kian sat up, studying me with a fatherly smile, one that spoke of pride and joy, not the pity I had endured all morning. “And I am glad it was you. Rhys is a good man.”

“Kian, I…” I bit my lip, turning sharply back to my dresses so that he could not see the tears streaking down my cheeks.

“Hey now,” Kian’s hands were warm on my shoulders, “none of that.” He wiped away my tears with calloused fingers, his voice soft, comforting, paired with another wave of comfort flaring from my mark. “Rhys will have my head if he thinks I’ve made you cry.”

I laughed, the sound choked through my tears, but it was a laugh, a true moment of joy that sent warmth soaring through my chest. “Thank you, my friend.”

Kian nodded, studying my wardrobe with an intensity he reserved for the hunt, and I knew he was calculating his next move, our next move. He was after all to present me as the future Unseelie Queen, a task not taken lightly. I would need to be devastating, to draw the air from every room I entered, and Kian considered our next move very carefully. “You should wear the black one,” Kian murmured, reaching past me to pull the dress from the wardrobe.

* * *

I had walked the steps of the manor many times. Had rushed down them in excitement, had fled up them in anger and sadness, but the steps that now carried me downwards were heavy, reluctant. Kian gave my arm a gentle squeeze, his smile bright as we descended, a pair of ravens in the garden.

He had chosen well, the black dress serving as the instrument of the destruction I lay at my feet. I had cast off the garb of youth, the greens and browns of the Seelie Court, had burned them in a pyre at my feet, and what rose in its place was a creature of darkness.

The dress, made of the richest black velvet, was my armor, my tool, my weapon. Shoulders bare, the neckline just low enough to show the curling edges of the mark, Kian had insisted the mark be seen. Sleeves of the most intricate lace, a narrowing of the waist, full skirts trimmed in deep red velvet, I knew I cut I fine figure, knew all eyes would be on me. The serving girl had remarked as such when she swept my curls from my face and piled them atop my head in an intricate braid, leaving some to spill over my shoulder and tickle my bare back.

Kian cleared his throat, and I knew who it was before Kian spoke, the mark glowing a proud sort of warmth, my cheeks heating in response. “As promised, bathed and dressed, and fed I believe. Isn’t that right, my lady?” Kian squeezed my arm, his laugh carrying over the hushed whispers of conversation around us. “Ate a whole plate of spiced figs, it's a wonder she fit into her dress!”

“Kian!” I gasped out his name, hand clapping over my mouth to stifle my unladylike snort. Oh, I was going to kill him when we sparred next. The accompanying sound of warm honeyed laughter had the retort dying on my lips. Rhys laughed again, green eyes crinkling mirth, and I wanted to draw the sound out again and again if only to feel the tingling warmth it brought to the mark.“You have wounded my honor beyond repair with your cruel words,” I answered, trying and failing to sound dignified

Rhys’ hand was warm as it claimed mine, drawing me down the last few steps and into his arms. “Now that won’t do, a chuisle mo chroí. How would you have me defend your honor?” His smile was so bright, his manner so at ease that for a moment I could pretend he was not King of the Unseelie court, that he was just the Fae warm beneath my hand.

“Well,” I pretended to think for a moment, casting a glance back at Kian who leaned against the stair railing, a look of satisfaction plain as day on his features, “perhaps we should turn him into a rug.”

“Ah, and he shall be the most gruesome rug in existence! A grim reminder to our enemies of the might of their Queen,” Rhys’ voice was light, teasing as he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek.

Kian smiled brighter as his self-satisfaction hit an unbearable peak. “And I shall be the most handsome rug in all existence.” He accepted a goblet of honey wine from a serving girl with a lascivious smile and a well place wink. Predictably, the serving girl giggled and scurried off, Kian following close behind.

“And there he goes,” Rhys sighed out, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture I found strangely endearing.

“It's a wonder he ever sleeps,” I added, pulling yet another warm laugh from between Rhys’ lips.

“A wonder indeed.” He sighed deeply, eyes glazing over as if he was lost in thought before returning a moment later with a mischievous glint. “You look radiant, mo chroí.”

My cheeks warmed at his words and I ducked my head sheepishly to settle against the firmness of his chest, the velvet of his black overcoat soft against my cheek. “The words you say,” I breathed out, stealing a glance at the Fae around us, at the stares and hushed whispers.

I suddenly found I didn’t care what they thought, what they said, that I was some filthy human, that I didn’t belong there. Perhaps it was the comforting feeling of the mark, the feathers curling from below my neckline, that instilled a strange sort of confidence in me.

Shoulders squared, chin held high, I followed Rhys to the dining room, ignoring the stares, the whispers, and when we passed Eion, the look of heartbreaking disappointed. My hand tightened in Rhys’ as I swallowed down the urge to go to him, to beg for his forgiveness. His answering squeeze, the swipe of his thumb over my wrist pushed all thoughts of Eion from my mind.

The scent of venison and fresh flowers wafted over us as we entered the dining room, a smell that I would have normally found comforting now turned my stomach. Rhys must have felt the same, his long nose scrunching in disgust. “Ugh, the smell,” he spat, casting a glare about the room, settling on the Seelie Queen sat at the head of the table.

Gone was the teasing Rhys from the hall, and I realized with dismay that he wore a mask when in the presence of the Court. This was not the Rhys who had teased me so in the hall, had whispered sweet words in the garden, no he was something else here, cold, calculating, exactly as they expected him to be. Even his bow was mocking, the gesture ringing hollow.

I curtsied as well, head held low awaiting the Seelie Queen to acknowledge me. When she did with a dismissive wave and a look of boredom I realized that we were near equals. I needn’t bow to her, beg for her approval. I was above the same as her, all of her taunts, her reminders that I was human meant nothing.

“It is only customary, Camellia, that you bow to my queen as well,” Rhys bit out, square jaw tense, his tone cold and flat. He was met with blind fury and barely concealed surprise as the Seelie Queen bowed her head to me, motioning for us to join her. Rhys sat as instructed, sprawled across the seat, motioning for me to join him.

The chair was heavy as I reached for it, stopped by the impatient clucking of the Seelie Queen’s tongue. “Unfortunately, darling,” the emphasis on the endearment sent my blood boiling, “You are not yet a queen. Your place is with the royal hunters.”

My cheeks heated at her words, courage bleeding from my fingertips as rapidly as it had come. She was right, I wasn’t a queen, still only a royal hunter, still only a filthy human. “Of course, your majesty. Please forgive the intrusion,” I choked out over the lump forming in my throat, the tears brimming in my eyes. I turned sharply, wanting neither of them to see the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks, the way my fingers bunched in my dress to keep them from shaking.

The moment I was past the hunter’s table I would run back to my room, tear the dress free, and wish for this all to be over. Perhaps I could go hunting, I always found the solace of the forest comforting, perhaps it would ease my racing thoughts, my shaking hands.

“Come now, we can share my seat.” I had but a moment before the world was upended, and Rhys pulled me into his lap with a sharp yank. His arm was an iron band on my lap as he stopped me from rising. “Now this is much better,” he murmured, breath tickling my neck, his hand dangerously close to my breast, his chin a heavy weight upon my shoulder.

“Rhys,” I hissed out, moving to rise. He stopped me with a lewd press of his lips to the tip of my mark, and I just barely had time to swallow back the moan that spilled from my lips.The resulting glares from the surrounding Fae sent a blush to my cheeks so strong I thought I would burst into flames.

Rhys simply chuckled a cold forced sound, not the warm laugh from the hall, and pressed a goblet of honey wine to my lips. “Drink, dearest.”

I swallowed dutifully if only to clear the bile from my throat. The endearment sounded wrong on his lips, and I longed for whatever language he had whispered so sweetly in my ear.

“There’s a good girl.” He presented me next with a spiced fig, the juices running down his elegant fingers as he pressed it to my lips. “Kian mentioned these are your favorite.” I moaned at the taste, accepting every morsel he presented. When he pulled back I stopped him, small fingers enclosing his wrist to pull his fingers back to my lips. I started first with his thumb, tongue darting out to taste the juice of the fig where it ran red against his pale skin.

The taste of spices exploded over my tongue, and spurred on by whatever confidence still remained, I sucked the digit into my mouth with a lewd pop. I was playing a role, I reminded myself, tongue sweeping over the pad of his thumb. Rhys wanted cold, rude, calculated, well I could do that, I could be that. I followed my tongue with the scraping of teeth along his skin and Rhys choked out a strangled moan that startled the table.

I could feel the eyes on us, the disapproval radiating from around us, but I didn’t care—why didn’t I care? I should be as red as the berries atop the summer tart before me, yet something about him emboldened me. My free hand slipped beneath his shirt, trailing along his warm skin along the trail of dark hair that ran along the flat plane of his stomach, the lean muscles of his chest until I found his mark, warm above his rapidly beating heart. I stroked, tracing a circle over the raven feathers, drawing forth another moan, this time plain as day and twice as lewd.

I released his thumb with another inappropriate pop and an equally inappropriate smile. Rhys was staring from above me, his green eyes clouded with lust, his lips still parted around the thumb that was no longer there. I leaned up and pressed my lips to his ear. “People are staring,” I whispered, teeth worrying the shell of his ear. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“You are a surprise, mo chroí,” he answered, long fingers playing at the neckline of my dress. “Perhaps I shall have to reward your wickedness.” His fingers slipped below my dress for but a moment to trace rough pads along my mark. The touch was enough to draw a gasp from my lips, my back arching in pleasure.

“Are feasts at the Unseelie Court this…intimate?” My head lolled back against his shoulder, pleasure coursing through my veins.

He hummed for a moment as he pondered his response, hand still stroking along my belly. “Like this,” he rolled his hips into mine in emphasis, “no, they aren’t.” Rhys reached past me to pull a summer tart onto his plate. “I think you’ll find the Unseelie Court does not quite live up to the stories.”

“No?” I accepted a bite of the tart when he pressed it my lips. “You don’t feed your guests from your own hand, don’t let them sit on your lap?”

Rhys’ warm laughed answered, his smile bright against the crown of my head. “No, I suppose that is a special treat reserved solely for your enjoyment. Could you imagine if I treated the ogre chieftain in such a way?” He took a sip of honey wine before offering it to me—I declined. “That may be wise, mo chroí. We both know you have no head for wine.”

“Rhys!” Eion’s voice cut through the haze around us. “Have you no propriety?” I turned to Eion, the blunt outrage pinching his features looked so out of place on his handsome face.

I opened my mouth to respond when I felt it, the shifting of a warm palm beneath my dress along the inside of my thigh. He had somehow wormed his hand between my legs without me noticing—and I was never drinking honey wine for as long as I lived. Rhys shot me an innocent smile when I shut my thighs, trapping his questing fingers before they reached their goal.

“Remove your hand,” I hissed in his ear, hand gripping his wrist through the skirts of my dress. Suddenly his teasing wasn’t so endearing, no he had reached a line I was not willing to cross. “Or I will remove it for you.”

“Such fire, mo chroí,” he whispered against my neck, fingers still against my thigh.

“Rhys!” The sharp tone of the Seelie Queen had him drawing his hand back with a disappointed sigh. “Your behavior will not be tolerated at my table.”

“Is that so, Camellia?” He shot her a sharp smile, hand tightening around my waist possessively.

“If you wish to engage in such behavior, then do so in private.” Everyone around us was silent, poised, waiting to see what the dreaded Unseelie King would do. I locked eyes with Eion, the disapproval still plain as day on his face, but there was something else, deeper, darker—disgust.

“Well, dearest, I suppose we’ve worn out our welcome,” he stated matter of factly. “Hold on tight, mo chroí,” he whispered in my ear, low enough that I could barely hear him.

“Rhys!” Came the warning from the Seelie Queen, sharper this time.

“I take my leave, Camellia, until next time.” Magic roared in my ears, and then in a rush of blinding light, we were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one! Grad school has been crazy and I didn't have a lot of time this week!


	6. Cliffrock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say the Unseelie Court is a place of monsters, of nightmares, come to life. A grotesque castle built of bones carved like a gaping wound into the Black Mountains. It is a place of filth, of demons, of your every darkest fear, brought to life.” Rhys recited word for word the exact description my tutor had given when Eion and I had pressed him to tell us the tale of the monstrous Unseelie Court. “Things haven’t been that way in a very long time.”

Darkness greeted us, swirling to envelope us once the blinding light fell away. I staggered, suddenly no longer sitting, my hip colliding with a cold surface, the shock of pain tearing a hiss from my lips. Warm hands smoothed over the injury, healing magic tingling briefly along my skin. I couldn’t see, only feel the press of Rhys against my back, his arm still tight around my waist.

“Don’t move,” he murmured against my ear, “I’ll just be a moment.” There was a click, and suddenly the room filled with light as if it was still midday and not nearly midnight. “There. Much better.” Rhys released his grip on my waist and fell back against the large four-poster bed with a thud.

We were in a bedroom, larger than my own, illuminated by some sort of magical candle on the ceiling. I stared at it, strained to see the flicker of flame, finding done. “What is this?”

“Its electricity,” Rhys said matter of factly as if he were talking about something as mundane as the weather. He still lay motionless on the bed, a dreamy smile on his pale face, his hands folded across his lap. “I suppose they don’t have electricity in the Seelie Court. Camellia insists on being old fashioned,” he mused. He sat up sharply, pulling his overcoat and silk shirt free with a groan. “I hate these clothes,” he pouted, sounding very much like a petulant child. I found it oddly endearing, his outburst, the way he scrunched his nose in distaste. He flopped back again, chest bare, the odd electricity causing his skin to shine with a soft pale glow.

“Where are we?” Stepping into the frigid air, I surveyed the city below, the buildings and streets now in clear view. They were strange, rectangular, and oddly uniform, each with an uncountable number of windows. They seemed so cold, so empty, but as I watched the windows illuminate…what did Rhys call them, electricity? As each of the electricity flipped on, I realized that each building must have been full of occupants.

“The Unseelie Court,” Rhys was beside me, his hand warm on my bare back as he hummed contentedly. “Welcome to our home.”

“And those buildings?” Below strange carriages pulled by no horses raced past, odd mechanical noise deafening. The streets were full as well, though it was a little past midnight. I could see shapes moving below on smooth paths, large and small, though from his high up balcony I could not make out any details.

“Cliffrock, the seat of the Unseelie Court. The city within the river.” His chest was at my back, arms caging me against the railing. “And in the distance, the faint blue glow on the horizon? That’s the Sapphire Falls. It’s most beautiful at night, the water reflects the stars. I’ll have to show you someday.” He rested his chin on my shoulder, breath warming my cool cheeks. “And there’s the Moonset Path, the pass beneath the mountains.” He directed my gaze to a massive gate of iron built into the face of the mountains. The Black Mountains, the Unseelie Court, home to monsters and nightmares, at least that was what I had been taught.

‘This is so different from what…” I couldn’t find the words, all of it so overwhelming. Rhys smoothed his fingers over my mark through the fabric, the warmth spreading through my bones soothing my racing mind.

“They say the Unseelie Court is a place of monsters, of nightmares, come to life. A grotesque castle built of bones carved like a gaping wound into the Black Mountains. It is a place of filth, of demons, of your every darkest fear, brought to life.” Rhys recited word for word the exact description my tutor had given when Eion and I had pressed him to tell us the tale of the monstrous Unseelie Court. “Things haven’t been that way in a very long time.”

“The stories were true?” I swore I could see the silhouette of a jagged tower amongst the craggy mountains. “Dùn Caenleigh?”

Rhys nodded, his fingers along my mark stilling with a wistful sigh. “The _sore on the mountain._ I don’t go there much anymore.”

“The Court of Bones? The dance?” The questions flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Places you will never go, mo chroí,” his answered, voice rough, serious, “not if I can help it.”

“But it's part of your…our kingdom.”

“So it is,” he sighed, hands returning to my waist to pull me into a gentle embrace. “We let them think we were monsters, kept the city hidden away behind the mountains. You would not like the person I become when I am there, mo chroí.” There was tiredness thick in his voice as he spoke, a deep-seated sadness. “I know it’s selfish, but don’t want you to think me a monster.”

“Oh, Rhys,” I breathed out, the heart suddenly aching at the thought of him forced to wear a mask when in the Seelie Court. That he would hide a part of himself away from me. “This…all of this is so beautiful. Strange, but beautiful. Why keep it hidden away?”

“Because others would not understand what we have, would want to claim it as their own.” He sighed. “I would rather the world think me a monster than risk the life of my people.”

“That's rather romantic, don’t you think?” I giggled when he pressed a kiss to the skin beneath my ear. “Some monster you are.”

“Never for you,” he whispered against my skin, nose bumping my jaw as he pressed another kiss to my neck. “For you, a chuisle mo chroí, I lay all that I have at your feet. My kingdom is yours.” Rhys faced me, hands wrapped about my waist, his green eyes shining in the starlight. “As am I.”

My head spun at his words, at the intensity of it all. “Rhys…we just met,” I murmured, fingers cupping his jaw when disappointment turned his head. “This is too much.”

He turned, pressing his lips sweetly to my palm, his own cupping my hand, long, elegant fingers dwarfing my own. “I have never felt this way before, mo chroí. My heart aches with what I feel for you.” His words were strained, pain flashing in his eyes before he finally turned away, retreating into the bedroom and leaving me alone on the balcony.

My arms wrapped around my middle, around the ache that was building in my gut. The way he spoke, the depths of his feelings, it frightened me. It must have been the mark, it must affect him differently because he was Fae. The thought was terrifying, what if I never felt the same as he did.

I was clearly marked, we were mates, but my draw to him was dulled. For Rhys, the pull of our mating mark must make him ravenous with need, must overwhelm him. For me, it was a nagging in the back of my mind, a string that pulled me to him. Urgent, but still easy to ignore.

Rhys sat on the bed, something I couldn’t see cupped in his hands. I approached cautiously as if he was a wounded animal I had stumbled upon while hunting and was afraid of scaring off. “Rhys,” I sighed, sitting next to him, the bed large enough that we were not touching. “I need time.”

He sighed, holding out his hand and I willingly laced it with mine. “And you shall have time. I just want you to understand how I feel.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissed each of my knuckles gently. “I want you to have this.” Cool metal slid against my thumb as he slid his raven ring into place. “To mark you as mine.”

“Is the mating mark not enough,” I teased, holding my hand out to admire his ring. Silver, the relief of raven intricately carved into the shape of the ring with a white stone that seemed to glow brightly as its eyes.

“Starfire,” he answered when my brow furrowed in confusion as I studied the ring on my outstretched hand. “The stone is made of pure starfire. They mine the stones from the falls under the light of the full moon. It will never fade and it will never go out. A light in the dark for all those who need it.”

“Rhys it's beautiful,” I turned back, intending to kiss him to find him studying me with naked love pure as day on his face.

“A chuisle mo chroí,” he murmured, fingers cupping my jaw to draw me into a kiss. I pulled back, hands on his chest to keep him at bay.

“What does that mean,” I asked, settling my head against his shoulder when I was finally sure he would behave.

“A chuisle mo chroí?” I hummed in agreement, body relaxing against his. “Its old Gaelic, I picked it up from a human trader many years ago. It means ‘beat of my heart’.” He laced our fingers together, his thumb brushing over the raven ring. I shivered against him, suddenly very cold, unsure if it was from the chill of the night air or the weight of his words. “Come now, mo chroí, let me warm you up.” With a rush of magic, we were bare beneath the heavy blankets, the electric light now extinguished.

I giggled when he wrapped his arms around my waist, bare chest flush against his, the marks tingling between us where they touched. I drew my finger down his chest, pad tracing along the smooth skin, past a long silvery scar above his heart partially obscured by raven feathers. “Where did you get this?“

“Hm?” Rhys lay back against the pillows, eyes closed, trying very hard to appear disinterested. “Where did I get what?”

“The scar on your chest,” I repeated.

“What scar?” Rhys still appeared asleep, but with closer examination, I could see the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile.

“The scar on your…oh, you wretch!” I slapped my hand against his chest earning a surprised grunt of pain.

“You wound me, my lady!”He flopped against the pillows, mock death rattle escaping his lips. “This scar?” I followed his elegant finger as it traced over the line. “During the Scourge. You know of the Siege of Insanity?”

“I do,” the words came as a whisper. The Scourge was the last war between the courts. Lasting for nearly one thousand years, it had been carnage, both sides taking heavy losses. It was something the Fae often did not speak of, most preferring to pretend the war never happened. Our tutor had mentioned it once in passing, refusing to answer my questions when I had pressed him on the issue. I had to bribe Eion with a pilfered plate of spiced figs to hear the story.

The Siege of Insanity had been the last battle of a long and bloody war. According to Eion, the Unseelie Court had retreated to the Black Mountains for one last assault. His mother and her army had followed, had surrounded Dùn Caenleigh. Her forces had laid siege to the land until months became years, and years became decades. And so it continued until the Unseelie King emerged and was struck down by the Seelie Queen…Rhys was struck down.

“Don’t think too hard, mo chroí.” Rhys tapped my forehead with his finger, the edges of his green eyes crinkling in amusement. “It was a lucky thrust,” he answered, his own fingers stroking over the scar. “I had been weak, defeated, my people were dying. I had hoped for peace…but…” He looked so defeated, so crestfallen, and I knew we were treading dangerous waters.

“They tell it differently in the Seelie Court,” I murmured, his hand lacing with mine. “The wicked Raven King, cloaked in shadows snuck into the Seelie Queen’s tent with murder in his heart.”

“Is that so?” I could feel his smile against my hair, the barely restrained laughter.

“And as she slept, he poised to strike.” I pushed Rhys back into the mattress, my knees settling on either side of his hips. “Dagger drawn, cloaked in shadows, he pressed the steel to her neck.” I bit at the skin below his jaw. Rhys groaned in response, hands flying to my hips to hold them in a crushing grip. “And when he swung his blade, she struck, spearing him through the heart with a sword made of sunlight.” I settled into his lap, fingers trailing over the scar one last time, my hips rolling against his, another groan tearing from his parted lips. His green eyes were hooded, locked with mine, breath escaping in harsh pants. “She drove the Raven King back into the shadows.” I punctuated each word with a thrust of my hips, Rhys rocking up to meet me. “And they say,” I leaned in close, breath mingling with his, “the from the blood of the Unseelie King grew a beautiful rose.” A quick kiss to his lips. “And with that rose, they sealed never-ending peace between the courts.”

“That's one way of telling it,” Rhys answered, settling his hands on my hips to still my squirming. “I definitely do not remember a shroud of darkness. That would have been quite a sight.”

“So you didn’t try to murder the Seelie Queen as she slept?” 

“Camellia? Of course not. After one hundred years of siege and famine, I could barely summon enough magic to light a candle, let alone a shroud of darkness.” Flame hissed to life between his fingers, licking along both our skin before sputtering out.

“You must have been quite the sight, the villainous Raven King.” He looked so handsome then, green eyes full of boyish wonder, lips parted with a wry smile. He looked carefree, even happy. Something clenched in my chest, an odd feeling bubbling in my throat.

“Oh, I was. My hair had been longer and I had insisted I looked particularly dashing with a beard.” He smiled sheepishly.

“And what happened to your beard?” I tapped a finger on his smooth jaw.

“Moragan shaved it off in the middle of the night not long after the war ended.” His hips bucked into mine, nearly unseating me from his lap. “ Claimed he defeated a great evil that night.”

“Moragan?” I sat up to gape down at him, mass of curls falling in a curtain around us. “The Moragan? The trickster shaved your beard?”

Rhys’ face pinched in disgust paired with a petulant eye roll. “Hardly a trick.”

“You must have been quite the rogue,” I traced my tongue along his jaw, the faint tickle of his stubble against my lips. “Grow it back?”

“For you, mo chroí? I would do nothing else.” His lips pressed to mine and my heart soared at the sweetness behind his kiss.

“Well, you still haven’t told me how you got the scar,” I murmured, pillowing my head against his chest.

“The Seelie Queen stabbed me when I rode into her camp on the grounds of peace, there isn’t much else to it”

“With a sword of pure sunlight?” I pressed my lips to the scar, the mark.

“No, mo chroí, I can assure you it was a regular sword, but it hurt no less than a sword of sunlight would have.”

“How old are you,” I blurted out.

“I beg your pardon?” Even in the darkness, I could imagine his feigned insult.

“How old are you,” I repeated the question, arms settling around his neck. “Obviously fairly old if you are that hard of hearing.” Before the words left my lips, I was on my back, Rhys hovering above me, a wicked grin on his face.

“By the Law, the cheek on you.” To emphasize his point, his lips pressed wetly to my left cheek. “Now let's see, what age are we in?”

Age? Was he truly that old? I thought perhaps a few hundred years more than my twenty-eight summers, but Rhys spoke of events that had occurred hundreds of years ago with an unnerving level of familiarity. “Summermere.”

He paused, brow furrowing as if he was doing calculations in his head. “That would make me…” He paused again, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip between his teeth, brow furrowed as he thought very hard about his answer. “Six millennia.”

I sat up sharply, nearly cracking him in the head with my own. Rhys followed, straddling my lap, his hands stroking my waist. “Rhys I am being serious.”

“So am I. How old do you think the Seelie Queen is?”

“I don’t know, a millennia? As old as the dance?” I shrugged when none of those answers seemed to satisfy him.

“The dance isn’t as old as you think,” he mused. “I was already on my fourth millennia when it came into being along with the Seelie Court.” Rhys pressed me back to the mattress with a kiss. “Does my age bother you?”

“No. Does mine?” I nearly choked back the question, knowing very well where it would lead, but I needed him to understand.

“Of course not, though I find your lack of understanding endearing,” he kissed my nose when I wrinkled it.

“Rhys you know I’m human? That eventually I’ll die.”

“We all die, mo chroí,” his lips pressed to my forehead, more insistent.

“Yes, but I won’t live for six millennia.” Sadness tinted my words as I was suddenly faced with the very realness of my mortality. “At most I’ll live for another fifty years.”

Rhys sighed, arms bundling me tight. “It's alright, mo chroí, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” His lips again pressed to my forehead, this time hesitant, unsure. “Now I promised to warm you up.”

“Well, mo chroí”, I whispered, tripping over the Gaelic, “how do you intend to warm me when we are wearing no clothes.”

He smiled brightly at my words, lips pressed sweetly to mine as he threw my leg about his waist. “I am glad you asked, a chuisle mo chroí.” His fingers, warm as starfire drifted between our bodies. “Let me show you exactly how I intend to do so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a posting schedule? Honestly, grad school is heating up, so this might have to go on the back burner for a little bit. 
> 
> Also shoutout to everyone who left comments or kudos! (And anyone who's taken the time to read this!)
> 
> You guys are amazing!


	7. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could almost imagine the gardens of the Seelie Court around me. I was sunning in the grass, the sweet smell of roses surrounding me. I imagined cracking open an eye to see someone standing over me, a sharp smile shining in the fading sunlight. There was a flash of red hair and yellow eyes, the taste of bitter chocolate, and blood on my tongue. The grass was soft as I was pressed back against it, cool as it stuck to my skin. My vision shifted, still laid out of the grass, a body beside me, cold, unmoving.

Rhys had been silent most of breakfast, picking quietly at the plate of fruit before him. I tried again, sipping at my hot chocolate, to coax him to talk, asking about whatever had awoken us earlier that morning. He didn’t respond, emerald green gaze focused on something in the distance behind my head. He still looked handsome, I thought, wrapped only in one of the blankets we had pilfered from the bed, dark waves mused from sleep, and though distant, his green eyes were bright and shining in the midmorning sun.

He had kept his promise, had very much warmed me quite thoroughly. And to my delight, I found when he slept he was like a furnace, his form a solid warmth pressed against my back as we slept. It had been peaceful, safe, and we both slept through the night wrapped around each other.

I had awoken first to the sound of rapping against the heavy wooden door to his bedroom. Rhys stirred a moment later with a dramatic groan. He magicked a strange pair of tight smalls onto his form and left me shivering beneath the blankets, snuggling into the spot where his warmth remained.

Hushed whispers floated into the room, Rhys’ cultured smooth tones mixed with a deeper, more gravely tone. I could not make out the words said, but based on the hissed whisper of Rhys’ tone, it was not good news.

He returned moments later, arms folded over his chest, his face withdrawn, muttering about breakfast before retreating to the balcony to no doubt sulk.

His mood had not yet improved the more breakfast wore on, and I found myself already tiring of his mercurial nature.

“Rhys,” I began, setting my cup on its saucer, hands reaching to lace with his. He stopped me with a forced smile, one that did not show his dimples and did not reach his green eyes.

“Get dressed, mo chroí. I have a lot to show you.” I opened my mouth, ready to remind him that he magicked away my only clothing, but when I looked up he had disappeared. Rhys was gone in a fizzle of magic, blanket pooling on the chair where he once sat.

“Rhys!” I hissed out his name, looking around expecting him to reappear with his stupid wry smile on his face, mood clearly lifted.

I was still waiting for him to reappear, still wrapped in the same blanket, when Kian found me. He entered, smile wide as he settled onto the bed beside me. “You know, coming to collect you is starting to get exhausting.”

I rolled my eyes, drawing my legs to my chest, chin resting on my chin. “He left.”

“He does that,” Kian answered settling his should against mine, his muscular legs stretching out before him.

“He magicked away my only clothes.”

Kian burst into laughter, flopping back onto the bed, his arm over his eyes, tears of mirth flowing down his cheeks, shoulders shaking as he struggled to contain his laughter. I found my own giggles joining him, the bed bouncing as I flopped next to him, my body shaking with fits of laughter and happiness. “He magicked your clothes,” Kian gasped the question between fits of his own giggles.

“It's not funny, Kian!” I tried to explain, failing as I devolved into laughter. “I have nothing to wear and he’s expecting me!”

“I did run into Rhys on my way up, and he did look rather annoyed.” As if he could read my mind, the mark pulsed with a feeling I could only describe as annoyance. “You’d better hurry up, I’m not sure he would be opposed to you walking around naked.”

“Ugh, Kian!”

Kian held up his hands in defeat, springing to his feet in a display of grace, surprising for someone as bulky as him. “Fine, let me see if I can scrounge something up.”

Kian returned a moment later brandishing a small pile of clothes made of odd, thin material, unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was then I realized how bizarrely Kian was dressed, legs clad in a strange, deep blue, rough material, his grey shirt an odd thin material, the sleeves only coming to his bicep. “What are you wearing?”

Kian presented me with the clothing, his brows raised in confusion. “Clothing?”

“Kian,” I warned. He answered with a smug smile and a nonchalant shrug. He held out the clothes again and I took it, admiring how light the fabric was beneath my fingers. What he had handed me was trousers made of the same heavy material, the shirt a thick woven fabric in a color that reminded me very much of Eion’s eyes.

“Go on,” Kian settled back on the bed, nodding to the bundle of clothing clutched in my arms. I glared at him, waiting patiently for him to realize I wanted him to leave. When he remained, I gestured to the door. “Rhys won’t mind.”

I rolled my eyes, intending to throw him out when a raven cawed from the balcony followed by the sound of a beak tapping on the glass. It was rhythmic tapping, the sound echoing once, twice, before Kian threw his arms up with a mutter of ‘I’m leaving’ before he beat his retreat.

Now mercifully alone, I dropped the blanket and laid out the pile of clothing, the woven shirt, the odd trousers, and, to my horror, two very small scraps of lace fabric that must have been undergarments. I took one more look at the small triangle of lace, seriously considering forgoing the undergarments all together when the tapping at the window broke my thoughts.

The raven was still there, head tipped in thought as it watched me through the window. It tapped again, more impatient, its beak rapping sharply against the glass again when I approached. “Rhys?” I am not sure why I asked if the bird was him, but when it simply tapped harder, I realized what a ninny I had been. “Hello there,” I opened the balcony door and the raven hopped onto my bare shoulder with a chirp. “You aren’t Rhys, are you?” The raven narrowed its black eyes in a manner I found too much like comprehension.

The raven cawed twice before flying a few feet to perch on the headboard. It still stared at me, disinterested, beak preening its wings. “I guess you’re staying,” I murmured, deciding to give the undergarments a try. The breast band fit well enough, the lace doing very little to cover anything, the smalls covered even less.

The strange trousers provided little trouble, the rough material softer than I had expected, encasing my shapely legs tighter than any trousers I had ever worn before. The woven shirt was softer than the trousers loose and very warm. Once dressed, the raven cawed in what I could only assume was approval before settling again on my shoulder. “Shall we find Rhys?”

The hallway was furnished much the same as his bedroom, simple, rustic. The raven led the way, pecking on my arm to indicate the way. At the end of the hallway, a strange golden door greeted us. It had no visible handles, no knobs, no way of prying it open. I touched the cool metal, expecting some magic to force the doors apart, but nothing happened. The raven chirped, sharp beak pulling at the fabric of my shirt to gesture towards an odd raised panel on the wall. It was made of the same metal as the door with two smooth polished stones each indicating a direction. I hovered over the down button, the raven pecking at my cheek in agreement.

The door slid open with a mechanical noise revealing a small chamber inside. I entered the chamber swaying gently with my weight. Inside, the same panel greeted me, this time full of numbers. Sensing my hesitancy the raven pecked one of the lower buttons, and the chamber began to descend to the ground.

The doors hissed open revealing a large room full of sunlight, large windows lining the far wall from floor to ceiling. A puca in a short black dress the same woven material greeted me, her milky white eyes studying the raven on my shoulder, her red-rimmed lips split in a smile full of pointed teeth.

“Hello,” she sang, smile widening. “I’m Maia! It's nice to finally meet you, Aiofe!” Her small hands were warm as they gripped mine. “Oh, you are pretty!”

I could feel the flush creeping up my ears as I nodded wordlessly. The raven squawked before pecking my cheek and disappearing in a rush of magic.

In its place stood Rhys, dressed much the same as me, his woven shirt a rich black with a high neck, his heavy fabric pants a dark blue the color of the midnight sky. “Hello, Maia. I believe Kian was looking for you.”

Maia stuttered out a greeting, grey skin flushing a pretty blue color. She muttered something that sounded very much like nice to meet you before scurrying off. Rhys shrugged placing odd dark-colored spectacles over his eyes.

“Shall we, mo chroí,” he asked, his mood seemingly have improved since the morning. He looped his arm through mine, the mark tingling.

“Rhys.” I was rooted to the spot, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That was you?”

His sheepish smile and lack of eye contact confirmed my suspicions. “I needed to make sure you didn’t get lost. Anything else was a nice addition.”

“Oh? And it had nothing to do with watching me dress?” He tugged on my arm, lip pulled between his teeth. “Rhys, stop.”

His smile faded, concern chasing away whatever teasing had lifted his mood, his arm pulling sharply away from mine. “Aiofe, I’m sorry. I should not have watched you.”

“Rhys,” I repeated, pulling his arm back. “I don’t have shoes,” I answered softly.

“What? Oh?” Rhys was blushing I realized, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. With a hiss of magic, a pair of soft black leather boots appeared on my feet. “Better?”

I answered his question with a bright smile. “Better.”

* * *

Rhys talked animatedly about every building we passed, knew the name of most goblins, sprites, and hobs we met. Each greeting was warm, friendly, and every interaction stirred the odd feeling in my chest.

He was so different here. Gone was the aloof, rude king, and in his place was a man who clearly cared about his people. His story made sense, the way he had met the Seelie Queen alone to negotiate peace. And that odd feeling came again as he played with a goblin girl when she ran across our path. Rhys had released my arm with a bright smile before growling and chasing after her leaving me trailing behind.

Their chase had since ended, the girl now riding on Rhys’ shoulders, chubby green hands pulling at the bun tied at the nape of his neck. For a brief moment, I imagined our own children, a little girl with dark curls and bright green eyes. Rhys smiling with pride as he lifted her onto his shoulders, his long fingers resting on my swelling stomach. I barely knew Rhys, and I was imagining our children. It was the mark, I rationalized, the mark conjured these images, this strange desire. Rhys shot me a concerned look when I lagged behind, and I answered with a small smile to reassure him. 

A goblin woman stepped out of one of the small houses dotting the street. She wiped her hands on her apron, smiling brightly at Rhys and I. The little girl squirmed free, sprinting to the woman with a whoop of glee.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Rhys was walking beside me again, his arm looped through mine.

“What happens now that we are mates?” I bit my lip at the question, no sure if I wanted to hear his answer.

“In terms of what?” His arm pulled free from mine, instead choosing to rest it on my waist to hold me to him. One of the strange horseless carriages shuttered by, powered by magic, Rhys had explained. “I plan on presenting you as the Unseelie Queen at the festival of the moon in two days.”

“And then?” I let my head rest against his shoulder with a wistful sigh.

“And then?” His lips pressed to the crown of my wild curls. “We live in marital bliss until the end of our days.”

I cast one last look at the goblin woman and her child, a wistful sigh spilling from my lips. “I’ve never heard of a human mating with a Fae. Could we…” I trailed off the question.

Rhys followed my line of sight to the mother and child, his fingers tightening on my waist as the realization hit. “Have children? I suppose it's possible.” His response was quiet, hesitant. “I’ve heard of half-Fae, though one growing up in this world would be unlikely, but not impossible. Why?” He stopped both hands gripping my hips to pull them flush to his, a very evident hardness between us. “Are you eager to carry my children?”

I turned away, willing the flush creeping up my neck to disappear. Rhys chuckled, his lips trailing my up my jaw to close over the shell of my ear. “Any child conceived between us would be a changeling. Can you say that is what you truly want? To discard our offspring to the human world so that they could live?”

“Aiofe…any child you bear would be loved beyond reason. Regardless of whether it is a changeling or not.” His fingers were gentle against my skin. “It's a very tempting image, mo chroí,” he whispered, teeth worrying my earlobe. I bit down on my lip to stifle the moan bubbling in my throat. “You heavy with my child. Perhaps we should forgo the rest of our day and get started on your request.”

I was going to burst into flames, my whole body no doubt covered in a deep splotchy flush. “Rhys,” I hissed, not sure if it was in warning or conformation for him to continue. My body leaned into his, fingers splayed against the woven fabric on his chest, head dizzy with the seductive possibilities he offered.

“As tempting as you are,” his arm was looped with mine again, “I have a surprise planned.”

“That so?” We passed a set of taverns, patrons lining the street. All manner of creatures sat amongst the tables, nocks and pixies, ogres and sirens, and a family of brownies nearest to where we walked. I had never seen so many different Fae together. Even in the Seelie Court the different races rarely mixed, and certainly not in the way I saw before me.

Several patrons looked up from their meals as we passed, offering kind words and friendly to Rhys, and even a few directed their good wishes towards me with bright smiles. An elderly nock even pressed an apple into a hand with a murmur of ‘for luck.’

“They like you,” Rhys teased once we were free of the taverns. “And most are eager to meet their queen.” He smiled warmly at me, and I wished I could see his green eyes from behind his tinted spectacles.

“Their new queen,” I reminded him, “surely there must have other Unseelie Queens.” I took a bite of the apple, moaning at the sweet taste that spread over my tongue.

“None,” Rhys answered with a strange far off tone. “For as long as the Unseelie Court has existed, it has just been me.”He bit the apple when I pressed it to his lips. “There has never been an Unseelie Queen.”

“But surely there have been other women or men?” Rhys was silent as we walked. “Rhys?”

“You were…” Then I saw it, the creep of pink on the tips of his ears, the flush of red on his cheeks below his spectacles.

“Rhys,” I breathed out, dropping the apple to cup his jaw and turn him to face me. “You were my first too,” I murmured. I pulled his spectacles free needing to see his eyes, to look upon the shining green.

His eyes met mine slowly, shyly, and I wanted nothing more than to press my lips to his. So I did, kissing him gently, his jaw warm between my fingers, his lips soft, hesitant on mine. “We’re going to be late for my surprise,” he smiled against my lips, breath warm on my cheek.

“That so?” I kissed him again, swallowing his groan as my tongue tangled with his. He tasted of bitter chocolate and apple, and when his tongue tangled with mine I considered telling him to forget his surprise.

He hummed against my lips, hands firm on my shoulders as he pushed back, holding me at an arms-length, his green eyes bright, the color of grass burst forth from the frost, his thin mouth in a tilted grin. “Yes, and as tempting as you are, you’ll want to see it.”

We walked a little further, the buildings thinning out, the tall square building fell away to more traditional manors reminiscent of the Seelie Court. The street was flanked by gardens, the sweet smell of flowers wafting around us. I breathed deep, eyes rolling shut as the warmth of the sun-washed over me.

I could almost imagine the gardens of the Seelie Court around me. I was sunning in the grass, the sweet smell of roses surrounding me. I imagined cracking open an eye to see someone standing over me, a sharp smile shining in the fading sunlight. There was a flash of red hair and yellow eyes, the taste of bitter chocolate, and blood on my tongue. The grass was soft as I was pressed back against it, cool as it stuck to my skin.

The kiss came again, juniper berries, flashes of green, dark hair like silk running through my fingers. My vision shifted, still laid out of the grass, a body beside me, cold, unmoving. Eyes of fresh green, rimmed in the red of blood focused on my gaze one last time, the sparkling light behind them fading. I screamed sound drowned out by the wailing of a babe.

Above me stood a figure of white, a sword of sunlight clenched between their fingers. A red glint of a bloody moon illuminated their armor, the fiery red of their hair. My pleas spilled forth from my bloody lips, my fingers splayed over the child that grew within me. I begged for my life, for the life of the child, for the life of Fae dead beside me.

“An abomination like you does not deserve to live.” The voice was distorted, wrong.I screamed, hands covering the swell of my stomach as the stroke fell.

“Aiofe!” My name came from a distance, fog rolling over the sea. “Mo chroí,” lips pressed to my own, and when they pulled away, I tasted blood. “Aiofe, come back to me.”

My eyes struggled to focus, the garden coming back in a blur of colors suddenly blotted out by solid black as I was pulled against a warm chest. Rhys stroked my curls with shaking hands, his arm tight around my back, fingers splayed between my shoulder blades. “It's okay, a ghrá mo chroí. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” My cheeks felt wet, and I realized I had been crying.

“What…” I tripped over my voice, question falling my lips from between choking sobs. “what was that?”

“That was the Moragan.”


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Moragan answered with a sickly smile, his finger tracing over his golden cheekbone. “You are a human after all. A human amongst Fae,” he paused for a moment as if considering his next words, “though human is not the right title. Is it changeling?”
> 
> My anger flared at his words, crackling along my skin, the mark burning beneath my clothing. Changeling— not many dared to utter that phrase. It was dirty, forbidden, a word not spoken often, but when it was, it was hurled with the strongest of hatred, of vitriol. I had heard it first as a child when I had been caught stealing from the kitchen.

The Moragan was nothing like I had expected him to be. Clad in a brightly colored silk dress of a pale blue that reminded me of a robin egg, same dark colored spectacles hiding his brown eyes, he sprawled over the ornate velvet armchair, yellow silk slippers resting delicately on the table before him. He tilted his head, fingers steepled on his chin as he hummed a wordless tune.

Beside me, Rhys shifted in his own velvet armchair, long fingers drumming nervously on his knee. The humming continued, as did the rhythmic tapping, Rhys crossed and uncrossed his arms for the fourth time in the last few minutes.

“My king tells me you have questions,” the rich accented voice cut through the silence, “ _human_.” I looked up from where I was studying the chipped teacup in my hand to find his spectacle covered eyes studying me with a frightening level of interest.

“Moragan,” Rhys warned in a low, deadly tone, drumming halted, his fingers gripping the plush armrests.

“No, it's okay.” I clasped my fingers over his, stilling the crackling anger resonating from the mark. “I don’t mind.” The words rang hollow. _Human_ —the title still stung when it was thrown in my face, a constant reminder I did not belong with the Fae.

The Moragan answered with a sickly smile, his finger tracing over his golden cheekbone. “You are a human after all. A human amongst Fae,” he paused for a moment as if considering his next words, “though human is not the right title. Is it _changeling_?”

My anger flared at his words, crackling along my skin, the mark burning beneath my clothing. _Changeling_ — not many dared to utter that phrase. It was dirty, forbidden, a word not spoken often, but when it was, it was hurled with the strongest of hatred, of vitriol. I had heard it first as a child when I had been caught stealing from the kitchen.

The cook’s assistant, a pixie with wild peach hair, had seized my arm just as I had closed my hands over a sweet roll. She had drug me to the courtyard, thrown me harshly to the cobblestones. My head cracked against the stone, blood trickling down my forehead. She called me a filthy changeling, had spat that I should have been allowed to wither and die. The memory, the pain resonating in my soul felt so real…

The Moragan touched his forehead, fingers skirting along the exact place where the silverly scar hid beneath my hair. “You can see my memories?”

He smiled in response, sharp-tipped, dangerous. “It is my burden, and my gift.” He waved his hand dismissively, the table once full of all manners of delicacies disappearing in a fizzle of magic. “How else would I lure humans so easily? I can see what was, what will be, and what you wish to pass.”

“Moragan has agreed to read your memories.” Rhys squeezed my hand in reassurance. “Specifically those of your mother.”

“I…thank you,” I responded sheepishly. I had no memory of my mother, I was told that she had died crossing the wall, killed by the Unseelie Court for breaking the Undying law. Another squeeze of my fingers, firmer this time. My heart clenched at the idea, the thought, to know finally who I truly was.

Moragan’s fingers were cold against the teacup still clutched in my right hand. “Close your eyes.”

As if on command, they fluttered shut, the cool feeling of the Moragan’s hands creeping up my arm to settle in my chest. The air grew cold, heavy around us, and though my eyes were shut, I could feel the sun drop away, its warmth fading away. The teacup crashed to the ground before me, cracking of porcelain muffled and echoed. The warm grip on my hand faded, along with the warmth of the mark, and I reached out panicked, eyes snapping open to find myself alone. 

The soft patter of snow fell around me, stark white against the dark of the forest. It was cool on my bare skin, mingling with the tears that spilled unbidden down my cheeks. “Rhys!” I called out, turning sharply at the pair of starlings startled by my calls. “Rhys!” I called again, silence my only answer.

“Do not fear, human,” Moragan spoke, the weight of his hand appearing in mine. “Your king is safe.” His voice came from my mind, his hand in mine only a dream. I took another stepped forward, feet crunching on the frozen ground. “Do you remember this?”

I turned, taking in the height of the trees, the crisp scent of frost, the odd sharp scent on the wind. Blood, my mind supplied, blood after a fresh kill. It was a smell I knew well, it was the scent of a stag felled by an arrow. The scent of a bracer of rabbits snared in a trap. The smell of desperation, of an animal caught it a trap.

I followed the scent, the Moragan calling after me, but I was a hunter, a tracker, and I had locked on my prey. Each crunching step carried me forward, the muffled sound of harsh conversations echoing off the trees around me. The forest parted, the clearing large, round surrounded by twelve tall, thin ash trees, parted down the center by a thin brook, its waters frozen and rocky.

The wall, the Moragan had taken us to the wall. Every Fae knew of the wall, was taken to there as a child told that they could never cross the wall. The Undying Law forbids the crossing of the wall, if a Fae crossed they would fade and die.

The woman standing across the brook was decidedly Fae, her wolf-like blue eyes wild as she clutched a squirming bundle of black fabric to her chest with desperate fingers. Blood pooled beneath her, dripping steadily from her outstretched hand. She looked at me with naked horror, her heels crunching on the snow as she backed away.

I stepped towards her, ice cracking under my steps, the water of the brook painfully cold as it soaked through my boots. For each of my steps, she retreated until she reached the edge of the clearing, back flush against the thin ash tree, the bark groaning under her weight. Her gaze turned towards the bundle, shushing gently, her hands still desperately gripping at the fabric with knuckles white.

The bundle wailed, the stark sound echoing through the forest, sending a stag running between the trees. The woman cooed softly at the bundle, the fabric falling away to reveal a child, a little girl with honey brown eyes, round cheeks, and a mass of dark curls. The child before me looked so familiar like I had seen her before. And I had, she was the face I looked at every morning in the mirror. The almond eyes, the pert round nose, the wild mane of dark curls, the child clutched in her arms was me. The child wailed again, tears streaking down her chubby cheeks—streaked down my cheeks.

The Fae was gazing at me, through me again, eyes impossibly wide, her hands quickly readjusting the blankets to hide the babe from view.

“The child, Meriope,” the demand came from over my shoulder. I knew that voice had heard it spoken many times with the same harsh disgust. The Seelie Queen stood at the brook, her gown of cloud floating around her.

Meriope, tried to retreat, the trees blocking her path. “Please Camellia, my daughter was dying. I needed to keep her safe, to bring her beyond the Wall.”

“The Law, Meriope,” the Seelie Queen spat a pair of wolves flanking her, snarling, the hot breath rising in white clouds in the frigid air. “If you bring back that abomination, it will be hunted and killed.”

“Would you not do the same for your son!?” Meriope stepped towards the brook. “Would you not risk death for Eion?”

The Seelie Queen answered with a cruel sneer. “A filthy changeling is a mistake, a monster. It will not be welcome anywhere in the Undying Lands.”

“Please let us go,” she begged, another step carrying her closer to the snarling wolves. “Let us cross the wall, and you will never see us again. We’ll live in the mountains.” She was babbling, desperate. “Please, the humans did not see me, they will not know.”

“That thing is not welcome in my court,” She motioned the wolves forward, and they leapt forward, the closest, the larger of the two tearing at Meriope’s cloak. She did not scream, did not flinch, instead took another step towards the brook.

The wolves lunged again, the larger ripping the bundle to the ground, the babe squalling, screaming, the sound deafening.

The babe, I, was clad only in a light gossamer dress a crown of white flowers upon my brow, but that was not was what drew my gaze. It was the white feathers that sprouted from its cheeks and lined its chubby arms. As if compelled, my fingers tore the sleeves of my shirt to my elbows, the sprouts of downy feathers soft beneath my fingers.

I was far worse than a changeling, far worse than a human—I was a half breed. I wretched, falling to my knees beside the infant, beside myself. I tore at the snow, my breath failing to escape my throat, my vision darkening, my head spinning. I reached for the babe, not knowing what would happen, not caring. She was solid beneath my fingers as they settled on her belly, warm. She cooed, looking up at me with my own brown eyes, her mouth split in a gummy grin.

The wolf lunged for the babe again, teeth snapping. It did not reach its quandary, its head falling free of its body beyond the squalling babe, teeth still snapping at the air. Meriope screamed, still struggling against the remaining wolf until that too fell lifeless to the snow.

Meriope reached for the child, restrained by an unseen force. Tears streamed down her face, her blue eyes wild as she struggled against her bonds. “Oh my sweet dove, my Aiofe,” she cooed trying to silence the screaming babe.

The Seelie Queen answered with a scream of rage directed towards a rapidly expanding past of darkness between the trees. From out of the shadows stepped a figure clad in wicked black armor. The helm, a raven, razor sharp feathers protruding from the cold metal. His armor followed the same pattern, spiky feathers trailing over the torso and arms to create a deadly coat. “This is not your fight, Dark One.”

A rich laugh, cruel and cold, came in answer, spiked gauntlet pulling the helm free and tucking it beneath his arm. “The child is of my court, Camellia, you will not harm her without my consent.”

I knew those green eyes that met mine, had met them many times, love shining from behind their depths. There was no love or warmth as Rhys stepped forward, scooping the bundle from the ground with a sneer. He regarded the child coldly, regarded me coldly. “A half blood? What have you done, Meriope?”

Meriope fell to the ground, released from her bonds, fresh tears pouring down her face. “Rhys, please…” she sobbed, “my daughter is innocent.” She scrabbled at his greaves, blood welling from between her fingers. “Let me take her to the humans.”

“Enough!” Rhys’ voice, sharp, silenced her wailing. Rhys stared down at the bundle, green eyes flashing with a familiar warmth, his gauntlet hand shaking as it gripped the bundle.

“Please,” Meriope wailed, blood running down her forearms in thick rivers. “Rhys, you see what she’ll become! Please, Rhys! She will unite the courts! You know this!” Rhys’ eyes were wide as he stared down at the bundle, met my honeyed eyes. There came the flash of recognition again, one gauntleted finger pushing back to expose my cheeks.

Rhys hesitated, I felt him hesitate, fingers shaking as they pressed to my cheeks, sharp metal cutting the soft skin. The pain that welled up was deafening and I let out my own wail, fingers clawing at my cheek in pain.

Meriope was wailing too, a wrenching sound, cries of grief ripped from her chest. Rhys sneered, but I had seen it, the widening of green eyes, the love that softened his face for but a moment. The bundle was thrown into to brook, the ice cracking around the body, my body. The child was quiet, still.

Rhys turned on Meriope, his gauntleted hand fisting in her hair, wrenching her head back. She still wailed, still clawed at his armor. “You murderer! You monst…” her words devolved into wet choking gasps, blood pouring from the gaping slash in her throat.

He threw her body to the ground, her blood spreading over the ice, her gurgling cries eventually fading to deafening silence. I reached past her, hands closing over the bundle, my fingers slipping through the fabric as I tried to draw it from the rapidly cracking ice.

“What of the child?” The Seelie Queen stepped to the edge of the brook. On each side of the wall stood the King and Queen, light and dark, opposite sides of the same coin.

Rhys looked coldly down at the bundle. “The elements will take care of it.”

“Is it true?” The question was barely a whisper. The Seelie Queen crouched to touch the bundle, her fingers hesitating, eyes wide in fear.

“Yes. I found the father cowering not far from here,” Rhys answered.

“I hadn’t thought it possible. Was he…”

“Yes.” Rhys toed the bundle with his gauntleted foot. “It does not matter, the child will be dead by morning, and we will never speak of this again.” Blackness rose from the snow surrounding him, and then he was gone.

The Seelie Queen still rested one perfect hand on the bundle, a strange look of pity twisting her features. I watched as she scooped the bundle into her arms, casting one last look about the still forest before she too disappeared.

The sunlight rushed in, blinding, as did the warmth and the feel of arms holding me tight. “A ghrá mo chroí,” he murmured fingers brushing a damp lock of hair from my face.

Bile rose in my throat at the touch and I scrambled from his arms, still blind, my back hitting the edge of the table. I forced my eyes open, despite the blinding light, the pain that followed, the tears that streaked down my cheeks.

“Aiofe?” Rhys wrapped his arms around me and I lashed out, hand striking his cheek with a resounding crack. He released me, hands cradling his face. Free of his grip I stumbled back, broken teacup crunching beneath my boots.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t draw breath. Instead, I scrabbled for the raven ring, wrenching it free, the silver clinking against the shattered remains of the tea cup. “Do not touch me,” I choked out. “You…” I wretched, arms wrapping around my middle. “You killed my parents.”

“I didn’t…” Rhys held his palm to his cheek, the pale skin rapidly turning a bright shade of red. “You saw your parents?”

“My mother, you…Meriope…you killed her!” The realization slammed into him, and Rhys stepped back, fingers gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles. “She trusted you, and you killed her.”

Rhys opened his mouth and shut it, his brow furrowing as he tried to find the right words. Even if he did, I did not want to hear it, didn’t want to hear him lie to me. Tell me he loved me knowing full well what he did. “The half-blood child died. The river swept it away.”

“The Seelie Queen saved me. Pulled me from the river you cast me into,” I spat. The mark roared to life below my shirt, skin glowing hot, anger and hurt crackling along the surface. “You left me to die, called me an abomination. I was an ant for you to crush under your boot” I sobbed harder, the ache in my gut clenching tighter.

“Aiofe..mo chroí…”

“You do not get to call me that!” I struck him again, fists beating at his chest. “Remove it!” I gasped out, ripping at the fabric of his shirt, just enough to reveal the mark. “Remove the mark!”

“Aiofe…you don’t mean that,” he murmured, shaking fingers locking over my wrists. I struggled harder, fingers digging into his skin, blood welling around my fingertips.

“Remove it!” I cried, my sobs hysterical, my whole form shaking. I needed it gone, needed to no longer feel his warmth, the weight of him against me. All I could see was my mother’s blood staining the hands that held mine, all I could feel was the coldness of the river rising around me.

“Aiofe, please,” he pleaded, hands tightening around my wrists, his breath hitching, the words catching in his throat. Wetness hit my hair, and I realized he was crying, tears spilling over his high cheekbones. My heart wrenched, the mark burning beneath my fingers.

“Get out,” I bit out, hands falling away from his in a gasp. “Get out and do not come back.”

“Aiofe, please, talk to me.” He reached for me, hands stopping, drawing back to his chest. Hurt flashed in the depths of his green eyes, now the color of the cracking ice below the bundle of fabric. “Please, Aiofe. I love you…”

The wrenching sob physically hurt as it tore from my chest, the grief sending me to my knees. He pressed against the mark, the soothing warmth sent me retching to the grass, bile rising in my throat to stain the ground below, my fingers closing around the remains of the teacup. I needed it to end, needed the pain to end.

The porcelain was sharp beneath my fingers, the cool smoothness held the promise of freedom. The shirt tore easily enough beneath my fingers, and before Rhys could reach for me, realize what I was doing, I pressed the tip to my skin and sliced.

Blood welled between my fingers, the porcelain cutting deep through the center of the mark, cleaving the feathers apart, cleaving us apart. An odd pain pricked along my arms,sprouting, flowers bursting free from the soil. I knew below the fabric of my shirt I would find feathers of pure white sprouted from bloodless holes in my skin. Pain followed, sharp, taut, the string between us pulling tight. It was a rending pain, a pulling pain, and just when it hit its peak, the line snapped.

The ground was cool beneath my head, darkness creeping into my vision. Rhys fell beside me, his green eyes wide, listless, focusing on mine one last time before the darkness swallowed us.


	9. Halfblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He knows you do not want him, has shielded himself from you.” Moragan’s hand rested atop mine, cool and comforting. “He has done as you wished, removed the mark the only way he knew how. He hurts just as much as you, his pain raw and sharp, the cuts deep.” Flashes of tears brimming in green eyes, anger, fear, pain welling behind them drew a sob from my throat. “But for you, he will endure

Blinding pain greeted me when I awoke, groaning and shifting beneath the blankets that trapped me, eyes blinking open to the vision of woodland stags. Above me, the painted scenery of the hunt stared back.

“I thought you might appreciate this room, huntress,” the Moragan mused from his perch in the doorway. “Missed your coronation, by the way.” He tossed something to me, the silver circlet of raven feathers landing heavily against the silk sheets.

“Where am I?” My voice was a hoarse croak, throat burning at the effort to speak. I reached for the goblet he offered, downing the sweet wine until my throat no longer ached.

“Thirsty, little bird?” Moragan settled against my bed, his red silk dress floating around him like the petals of a flower. I sat up to greet him, fingers flying to my chest, to the strange empty ache that settled there. “Oh, the mark isn’t gone just…” he paused, searching for the word, “disrupted.”

My fingers traced the raised gash, the scab perfectly bisecting the two raven feathers, much like the silvery scar on…”Rhys?”

“Your concern for him is admirable,” the Moragan answered, looking very bored as he pushed my hair back from the mark. “After all you have seen.”

“You knew?” I whispered, fingers still tracing the mark, up to my shoulder, to my cheeks…I stumbled out of the bed, pushing past the Moragan, not caring that I was bare as a babe. “Mirror?” I stumbled forward, towards the direction in which he nodded. My reflection was pale, dark hair knotted, brown eyes rimmed in red. Below my fingertips, framing my mass of tangled curls were six white feathers tipped in grey, each sprouting from wounds along my temples. The Moragan was behind me, draping a blue silk robe over my shoulders.

“I knew you were half-Fae, knew of that night, knew of what could not be.” His brown eyes met mine over my shoulder. “Did you not suspect your heritage? A human mating with a Fae? Unheard of, impossible. To do so, you must have had Fae blood in your veins.” He impatiently tapped my forehead with one golden finger.

“I…” I settled back upon the bed, knowing my shaking legs would not support my weight for long. I touched the feathers again, the downey softness tingling under my touch. Had I truly known I was not human, had any indication of what blood ran through my veins? The Seelie Queen, her court, even Eion, they had hurled that word at me for so long, I had just accepted it as true. “No, I had no idea.”

Morgan laughed, a musical, cold sound. “And Rhys gives Camellia no credit. She kept you ignorant for so long, little dove.”

“What am I?” The question spilled free so softly I was unsure he had heard it.

“You are a half blood,” the Moragan clasped my hands in his. “The rest is for Rhys to tell.”

“Well, then I will never know because we will never see each other again.” My stomach turned at the thought of having to see him, the betrayal and hurt in his green eyes. “I’m going back to the Seelie Court.”

“And leave us without a queen when we have waited so long for one to rise?”

“Neither of the Courts has ever been ruled by a mated pair,” I answered, hand automatically closing over my mark. I swore I could feel the distant warmth, as if I sat in a chill room, the fire before me just beginning to spark.

“Does a kingdom not need a king and a queen? We have been not been whole for too long, little bird. You know this, you saw it. And you know Rhys has never taken another lover, a consort…has never taken a queen.” His hand tightened over mine. “The Unseelie Court has bided its time, waited dormant for the queen that was promised.”

I ripped my hand free suddenly repulsed by the idea of his cool clammy skin against mine. “I am not your queen.” Moragan sighed, reaching into the folds of his gown to produce the raven ring, the glowing stone of starfire extinguished.

“He gave you his ring, gave you his mark, and if you had been awake, he would have given you his crown.” Moragan’s eyes grew distant, grey mist settling over deep brown. “He was there, that night…when he touched her, pain, flashing pain. Then something strange…something more…he knew…knew he loved her…knew he needed to find her…protect her…’

“He left me to die!” I couldn’t hear…didn’t want to hear that Rhys had…that he…

“He came back for the child…something had drawn him back to that clearing…to the wall…she was gone…he was too late.” The Moragan held my forearm in a crushing grip. “Guilt…blinding guilt and pain…”

“Please stop,” I murmured, wanting to hear no more. I held the ring, clutched in my hand, the feathers digging into my palm.

“The dance…that scent…could it be her? A human…she smells so much like her…” The mist cleared from his eyes, his crushing grip slackening enough for me to pull free. “His heart called to you all that time, and that night you finally answered.”

I drew my knees to my chest, fingers tight against the mark willing that spark of warmth to flare again, to feel the comforting presence of his warmth. The mark remained silent save for the gaping feeling of emptiness deep in my chest. “Why won’t it work?”

“He knows you do not want him, has shielded himself from you.” Moragan’s hand rested atop mine, cool and comforting. “He has done as you wished, removed the mark the only way he knew how. He hurts just as much as you, his pain raw and sharp, the cuts deep.” Flashes of tears brimming in green eyes, anger, fear, pain welling behind them drew a sob from my throat. “But for you, he will endure.”

* * *

After the Moragan, I had a steady stream of visitors and distractions for the next month, none of which were the one person I had wanted to see. First, Maia, the puca from Rhys’ home. She had arrived two into my self imposed exile, brandishing two overstuffed packs filled with all sorts of supplies. More trousers made of the same rough material, denim, she had explained with a too bright smile. Sweaters, blouses, jackets, a few dresses, some long, some short enough to be shirts. I had placed those away in the back of the closet.

Maia had patiently explained each thing to me as she pulled it from the packs. Scented soaps for my bath, another for my skin, a strange minty paste for my teeth, and my favorite, an elegant pearl handled hairbrush and matching comb. A mating gift, she had murmured sheepishly, blue flush spreading over her round cheeks.

After Maia came Kian three days later, bearing decidedly fewer gifts, instead an opportunity to go hunting. We had thankfully forgone the strange carriages, instead choosing to travel by horseback, Kian atop his chestnut destrier, Astra. I had been given Stormfire, a beautiful roan, that Kian had admitted may or may not have been a gift from Rhys. When I pressed him on the matter, he shrugged and stated he had been sworn to secrecy.

The mountain forest was cool, quiet, and though I had never traversed the path before, it was familiar, comforting.Kian and I had tracked a stag for a few miles before settling into the tree row to await our prey. Kian sat propped against a tree, legs stretched in front of him as he sipped some foul smelling liquid from a flask.

I crouched ahead in the bushes, new bow clutched between shaking fingers. I had dressed in the clothing Maia had provided, another warm sweater, this time a soft cream paired with dark trousers of a strange stretchy material. I had forgotten a coat, instead choosing to pilfer Kian’s thick wool jacket a few miles back.

“Drink?” The flask was shoved under my nose, smell turning my stomach.

“Ugh, what is that?” I wrinkled my nose in disgust and pushed the liquid away.

“Coffee. The human traders sell it. I could get you some if you’d like,” he teased, wafting the smell in my direction, laughing when I fought back the urge to wretch. Our journey had been light, full of teasing and laughter, and I could almost pretend that everything was okay. Kian knew what had happened, Rhys had told him. When I tried to tell him my side, he had shrugged and said he didn’t need to know and I didn’t need to tell him.

“So you truly have no sage words of wisdom?” I asked, turning to him, settling my bow on my lap with a sigh. Kian shrugged again, and I was slowly beginning to understand that he truly had nothing to say.

“Its your mate. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh, I think you have plenty to say. Everyone has something to say. The Moragan, Maia, even the stable boy this morning.” I had begun to feel like every citizen of Cliffrock had some wisdom to offer about Rhys and I. When I brought it up to Moragan the night before, he had simply stated a kingdom needs a queen.

“First,” Kian took another sip from his flask, “the Moragan has an opinion on everything. It's his job to have an opinion.” His voice deepened unexpectedly. “Second, don’t listen to Maia. She’s a kid, has grandiose ideas of romance. Not exactly an expert.” Was that a blush on his cheeks?

“Kian,” I tried to bite back the laughter bubbling in my throat, “are you blushing?”

“No,” he answered a little too quickly. Serious, stoic Kian was blushing.

“Well,” I bit my lip, no doubt looking impossibly smug, “I don’t blame you. Maia is very pretty.” I earned a smack to my arm from Kian paired with a sharp glare.

“Drop it, Aiofe,” he warned.

“She was so nervous when I told her you were visiting this afternoon. Had nearly broken her teacup with how hard she gripped it.” I knew I had crossed a line, was being cruel.

“Fine, you want to talk about relationships, let's talk about yours.” Kian folded his arms across his chest, his flask forgotten on his lap. “You have not seen or spoken to Rhys in over a month despite his multiple attempts to reach you.”

“Kian.”

“He goes to the Moragan’s manor every night, Aiofe. Drinks whiskey in the Moragan’s study for hours hoping to catch a glimpse of you.” Kian was a parent scolding a child, and I shrunk back from his harsh words. “The first night he saw you, it ruined him.”

“Please, I don’t want to hear this,” I begged, arms wrapping around my middle. I knew I could have just left, Kian would have let me. Some part of me wanted to hear it, to hear Kian speak of Rhys, to give me something to cling to at night when I lay alone in my bed reaching for a warmth that was no longer there.

“He still goes every night bides his time between the Moragan and the Court of Bones. He rarely sleeps, barely eats, the only thing he ingests anymore is honey wine.” I stopped Kian with a wave of my hand. My other hand toyed with the raven ring, hidden beneath the fabric of my gloves.

“The Court of Bones?”

“Aye. Are you suddenly deaf?” I answered with a glare and a sharp exhale of his name.

“But he…” Rhys had mentioned the Court of Bones only once, just long enough to forbid me from following him there.

“If I had to hazard a guess, _Aiofe_ ,” each syllable of my name was intentionally drawn out, “that the Court of Bones is the one place he knows you can not go.”

“But the Moragan?” Rhys wasn’t avoiding me, couldn’t be avoiding me. “You just said he comes to see the Moragan every night.”

“To see the Moragan, not you.” Kian had produced another flask, this time the sweet cloying scent of honey wine. “Did you know he waits until you are asleep, creeps into your room just to place his hand on your cheek for but a moment?” Kian took a deep swig of honey wine before offering the flask to me. When I refused he pressed it into my hands. “You’re going to need it for what I am about to say.” His cold blue eyes burned in the setting sunlight.

I hesitated, holding the flask dumbly before finally taking a deep swig. It burned my throat, liquid fire pooling in my stomach, branching out to settle in my veins. It was the closest I had gotten to the warmth of the mark, and without thinking I took another hefty swig. “Do you know what happens when mates are apart?” I shook my head in answer. “They wither, fading away into despair until they finally die.”

I hadn’t felt any different since I had awoken to the dullness in my chest, hadn’t faded as he had said. “But…”

That is why he came every night. Laid his hand on my skin, broke his own heart over and over again. Stupid, selfless Rhys would rather himself die than another in his place. He had done so once, and now he again chose to make that sacrifice. Instead of a sword made of sunlight it had been my own stubbornness and temper that had cut him down. “Told him he was an idiot as well,” Kian added sensing the discomfort on my features.

“I still don’t understand why he went to the Court of Bones.” The question lingered heavily on my tongue, and though I asked it, I already knew the answer. After all, there was more than one way to remove a mating mark.

“To free you. A mating mark can…”

“Only be broken by death,” I finished, standing sharply, the contents of the flask spilling to the forest floor. “Take me there.”

“You know the rules, no humans allowed under the mountain.” Kian followed scowling as he scooped up his flask, the remaining honey wine quickly brought to his lips.

“Well it's a good thing that I’m not completely human,” I answered, shouldering my back and bow.

“Did you take a blow to the head when I wasn’t looking?” His palm tapped my forehead in emphasis. “Last time I checked, I was still human.” Kian followed closely as we began our descent down the slope of the mountain to where our horses were tied.

“So? I’ll ask Maia to take me.” Kian barked out a laugh loud enough to startle a raven from a nearby tree. “Okay, then who do you suggest?”

“No one goes to the Court of Bones anymore,” Kian explained, untethering and mounting Astra. “That's the reason Cliffrock exists, a place for the Unseelie Court that is free of those nightmares.”

“Someone must still go.” I did the same, Stormfire nickering in greeting.

“Oh someone still goes, but you aren’t going to like it.” Kian shot me a mischievous grin. He meant the Moragan, my host, who I had gotten the very distinct impression did not like me much. We ate our meals together, silent until he spouted some cryptic nonsense that sent my temper flaring. Kian was right, I didn’t like it.

“Well I have to try. If your right and Rhys is intent on killing himself, then I need to find a way to make him listen.”

“Storming into the Court of Bones is certainly going to get his attention.” Kian stopped as we crested the last hill, the tall buildings of Cliffrock coming into view. “Are you sure you want to do this? The Court of Bones isn’t a pleasant place even for a half Fae.”

I didn’t answer, eyes locked on the jagged castle just barely visible in the light of the setting sun. “How do you know so much about mates?”

Kian sighed heavily, fingers shifted uneasily on his reins. “I just do.”

“Kian,” I pressed, “please?”

“Come on, we can walk and talk,” he replied, dismounting and beginning to lead Astra down the hill, me trailing behind. “I…” he sighed, free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “There had been a Fae once— Iarlaith. He is…was a hunter.”

“Kian,” I murmured, lacing my fingers with his, rough palm meeting rough palm. “If you don’t…”

“No, its okay. Iarlaith had come upon me when I had stumbled into the Fall Lands while tracking a boar.”Kian smiled thoughtfully as if the memory had sprung up around him. “I was young then, surefooted, and I had wandered into a snare meant for the same boar I tracked.”

I could imagine Kian, young, without the lines of age, hanging by one foot, blue eyes wild. “I had nearly slipped my binds when the sound of warm laughter floated from between the trees, and there from the shadows stepped a mighty hunter.” Kian sighed, deeply, wistfully. This was not the Kian I knew, the Kian who had a revolving troupe of bedmates, had been a shameless flirt.

“He wore the red polished leather of the Fall Lands, his rosy pink skin flushed from the snow that began to fall around us. He was laughing still when he cut me down, beautiful opal eyes filling with mirthful tears. Seann amadan was what he gasped out between laughs, old fool.” I let my eyes drift shut, imagining a gallant hunter stepping free from the trees to rescue Kian, and Kian accepting his help all while wearing a bare faced look of admiration on his face.

“We didn’t meet again for many years, and when we did it was at the dance,” he continued. “Iarlaith and I…” I tightened my fingers on his in comfort. “It wasn’t a true mating, just our version of it.”

“You’ve never spoken of him before,” I whispered, unsure what to say to the pain in his voice, the way the word caught in his throat when he murmured his name.

“He’s gone now,” Kian sighed once we reached the stables. “Joined the Wild Hunt.”

“Kian, I am so sorry.” His words left me raw, the hurt reflecting my own.

“It's alright.” Kian squeezed my fingers one last time before enfolding me in his arms. “I hope you understand why you need to reconcile with your mate.”

I did, heart wrenching painfully, and just for a moment, a spark of warmth answered.


End file.
